


Through Frost and Flames

by HollowMashiro, Macdadivali



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Room of Swords (Webcomic)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canonical Fantasy Racism, Dragons, Draugr (Elder Scrolls) - Freeform, Multi, Rated For Violence, Slow Burn, descriptions of dead bodies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-01-23 09:34:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 94,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21317995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollowMashiro/pseuds/HollowMashiro, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macdadivali/pseuds/Macdadivali
Summary: Gyrus just wants to make it home in one piece after his first research trip in Cyrodiil, but fate has other plans for him... if he can survive executions, draugr, and the rest of Skyrim's commonplace dangers, not to mention the return of the mythical dragons. Thankfully, he'll manage to gather a reliable group of friends to have his back on his quest to save Skyrim.(Note: No prior knowledge of Skyrim is required to read and enjoy this fic.)
Relationships: ? - Relationship
Comments: 28
Kudos: 99





	1. Unplanned Detour

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to our Skyrim/Room of Swords AU! We hope you enjoy your stay!

_ Cla-clop, cla-clop, clatter, cla-clop, cla-clop, cla-clop. _

His head ached abominably, and it throbbed angrily with every jostle and bump. Definitely not the best way to wake up, Gyrus thought fuzzily, cracking open his eyes and wincing at the too-bright sunlight. His neck was also sore from sleeping wrong, and Gyrus groaned unhappily as he rotated his head, trying to get rid of the crick in his neck.

“Hey, you. You’re finally awake,” someone said.

Gyrus jumped slightly; he’d barely been aware of his surroundings. But now that he was paying attention, he realized that he was sitting in a rickety wooden horse-drawn cart with a handful of other men, traveling along a cobblestone path between snow-touched evergreens. This _ definitely _wasn’t where he remembered being last. 

“What happened?” he rasped, coughing as his parched, irritated throat protested. How long had he been out?

“You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there,” the man sitting across from him said sympathetically. Now that Gyrus thought about it, he did remember something about trying to get back into Skyrim, but being caught in chaos as soldiers appeared from seemingly nowhere and began to fight another group of men…

“Damn you, Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire would’ve been nice and lazy if they hadn’t been looking for you. I could’ve stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell,” another man in the back of the cart snarled before piercing Gyrus with a sharp gaze. “You there. You and me – we shouldn’t be here. It’s these Stormcloaks the Empire wants.”

“We’re all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief,” the first man replied, raising his arms slightly for emphasis. The man’s wrists were tied together with ropes, which meant—

“Oh,” Gyrus breathed, numbly staring down at his own tightly-bound hands. How had he not noticed this earlier? He shook his head, trying to clear the fog and pain from his mind so he could think clearly.

“Shut up back there!” the soldier at the front of the cart snapped.

“Watch your tongue! You’re speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!” the first man – the Stormcloak – snarled furiously.

Gyrus spent a moment staring at the third man in the cart, bound more heavily than the others as well as gagged. Ulfric Stormcloak, notorious leader of the rebellion against the Empire, over Skyrim’s sovereignty and the banning of Talos worship. He didn’t look half as impressive as rumors indicated, trussed and bound as he was. 

But Gyrus was less interested in Ulfric than he was in his own predicament, so he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, tuning out the sounds of his companions squabbling and panicking. He could think a little more clearly now – how had he wound up in Imperial custody as a common criminal?

Gyrus recalled how he’d spent the last handful of months along the northern edge of Cyrodiil, helping a team of scholars from the Imperial capital uncover a small Dwemer outpost hidden in the mountains. He was extremely fortunate to have both heard of the project and joined it without a hitch, and even though the work was exhausting and they found nothing terribly interesting, Gyrus still absolutely loved working as a real researcher for the first time.

Then, Gyrus remembered with a wince, his fortune took a turn for the worse on his journey back to Skyrim. A small group of bandits had ambushed him along the road, robbing him of literally everything he owned, including the citizenship papers that would allow him to depart and reenter Skyrim without trouble, and leaving him with nothing but a pile of rags that Gyrus had fashioned into makeshift clothes. Returning home with nothing but scraps and memories would certainly upset his family, but at least Gyrus was still alive, and he’d made some connections with the researchers from the capital.

Except that he’d gotten caught by the Imperial ambush while he was trying to sneak across the border without his papers. Not to mention that the normal judicial process for his case was probably suspended because he was sitting in the same cart as the bound and gagged Ulfric Stormcloak, current number one on the Empire’s most wanted list. What a nightmare.

Still, there was no way they could kill him just because he happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, right? Gyrus would just explain what was going on, and everything would be fine.

No need to panic, not like the thief beseeching the Divines for help.

Gyrus opened his eyes just in time to see the cart clattering under a watchpost into a good-sized town, the fresh, sharp scent of the woods giving way to smoke, cooking food, and people. To the right, a small gathering of important-looking Imperials watched the procession as it passed.

The Stormcloak snorted, glowering at the group of Imperials - in particular, the olive-skinned man at the center. “Look at him. General Tullius, the Military Governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this.”

Gyrus bit his lip to keep quiet. He knew that many Nords held unkind opinions toward the elves, but Gyrus felt his family had raised him right to have no prejudice against others. Gyrus knew he could sometimes be oblivious to social context, but even he knew that now was _ not _the right time to start an argument with the Stormcloak over race politics.

“Where are we?” he asked instead, eyeing plain houses made of wood and thatched straw that were the standard in the rural areas of Skyrim.

“This is Helgen,” the Stormcloak replied, voice taking on a wistful quality. “I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in…” he trailed off before letting out a bitter huff of laughter. “Funny. When I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe.”

Gyrus wasn’t quite sure where Helgen was, but it had to be a southern border town close to Cyrodiil. No way had he been unconscious long enough for a prolonged journey. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be too difficult to figure out which way was home.

As they got closer to the town square, Gyrus noticed an increasing number of citizens lining the streets, watching them pass with guarded eyes. No one seemed too starved, which was good. Gyrus hadn’t been paying much attention to the news of Skyrim’s civil war between the Stormcloak rebellion and Imperial Army, but he had heard that some areas were having difficulties maintaining necessities due to unstable trading, dangerous roads, and ruined farmlands.

“Who are they, Daddy? Where are they going?” a boy asked, the first of the bystanders to speak above a whisper. He watched the procession without fear, only curiosity.

“You need to go inside, little cub,” a nearby man said sternly, gripping the boy’s shoulder and steering him away.

“Why? I want to watch the soldiers,” the boy protested, resistant.

“Inside the house. Now,” the father ordered sternly.

“Yes, papa,” the boy replied sullenly, allowing himself to be guided away. Gyrus couldn’t help but flash him a friendly smile as the boy glanced back before disappearing between buildings.

Not long after, the cart slowed as it approached a tall stone wall at the edge of town. Gyrus tensed, recognizing that this was the end of their journey, and tried not to stare at the executioner’s block across the square. Of course the Imperials would want Ulfric’s death to come as swiftly as possible, instead of imprisoning them all first. Gyrus would have less time to defend himself than he thought, but he would still be okay. He just had to keep calm, even though his heart was rebelliously starting to beat faster and his palms were growing sweaty.

“Get these prisoners out of the carts. Move it!” an Imperial yelled authoritatively. From the embellishments on her uniform, she was probably higher-rank than many of the other Imperials. A number of Imperial soldiers swarmed the four or so carts, making sure that the prisoners didn’t try anything funny. Not that Gyrus had any plans of that sort, because cooperation was likely the only way he would get out of this alive.

“Why have we stopped?” the thief said fearfully, clenching and unclenching his fists nervously.

“Why do you think? End of the line,” the Stormcloak replied. “Let’s go. Shouldn’t keep the gods waiting for us.”

Gyrus stood, wincing as stiff muscles protested, and followed the others off the cart, stumbling slightly as he stepped down.

“No! Wait! We’re not rebels!” the thief protested as he was shoved into line by a helmeted foot soldier.

“Face your death with some courage, thief,” the Stormcloak replied. Gyrus was impressed by the quiet resolve and calm the man possessed, even in the face of certain death.

“You’ve got to tell them! We weren’t with you! This is a mistake!” the thief pleaded, shaking. He turned to the surrounding soldiers with beseeching, frightened eyes, but none of them were paying him any attention.

“Step towards the block when we call your name. One at a time!” the Imperial Captain ordered, completely ignoring the quivering thief even though he was but a handful of strides away from her.

“Empire loves their damn lists,” the Stormcloak muttered derisively, eyeing a long piece of parchment held by the Captain’s second with disdain. Gyrus’s throat tightened; what if his name was inexplicably on that list?

“Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm,” the Imperial called first, unsurprisingly.

“It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric!” said the Stormcloak as Ulfric passed him. Even bound and gagged, the Jarl’s massive shoulders were set proudly stiff as he moved to where the Imperials directed him.

A few other Stormcloaks were called before a “Ralof of Riverwood” was. The somewhat chatty Stormcloak in Gyrus’s cart stepped into place near Ulfric, carrying the same dignity in his posture as his leader.

Not long after, the Imperial said, “Lokir of Rorikstead.”

Gyrus saw the thief tense from fright. “No, I’m not a rebel! You can’t do this!” he cried. The helmeted Imperial stepped forward and grasped the thief’s arm tightly, pulling him towards the block.

Gyrus could see the moment the thief snapped from fright. With a desperate cry, the thief wrenched his arm from the soldier’s grasp and fled, running as fast as he could back the way the carts had come.

“Halt!” the Captain roared, even as the helmeted Imperial took off in pursuit, not much slower than the thief even though the thief was in plainclothes and the soldier was in heavy armor.

“You’re not gonna kill me!” the thief screeched. Even at a distance, Gyrus could tell that the man’s eyes were wide and wild.

“Archers!” the Captain snapped. Gyrus looked away with a flinch as a single arrow struck true, instantly downing the thief from a pierced heart. Gyrus barely heard a gurgle before there was nothing.

Gyrus took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, keeping his eyes averted from the body. _ I refuse to die like him,_ he thought, clenching shaking hands into fists.

“Anyone else feel like running?” the Captain challenged. Unsurprisingly, no one budged. Everyone knew that an execution was a faster, less painful death than by sword or arrow.

Names were called without further interruption, until Gyrus was the last one standing by the carts. He fought to keep from showing his fear as the Captain’s second examined him with narrowed eyes, from his improvised footwraps to his unusual green hair.

“You there. Step forward,” the Imperial ordered. Gyrus did so obediently, even though his knees wanted to give out. “Who are you?”

This was his chance. This was where Gyrus would explain that this was all a huge misunderstanding, that he’d just had some misfortune and wasn’t a criminal of any kind, and then the soldiers would let him leave and go home without any harm done.

“Gyrus. G-Gyrus Axelei, of Shor’s Stone,” he stuttered, quailing under the intense stares of the two Imperials. “My family works in the mines there. A-and I’m no criminal, I swear! I was just robbed blind on my way home.” Gyrus gestured to his makeshift, ragged clothes. “Honestly, I-I just want to go home without any trouble.”

“You picked a bad time to come home to Skyrim, kinsman,” the Imperial said sympathetically, his stiff posture softening marginally. Gyrus fought to keep still while the man scanned his long piece of parchment. After what seemed like an eternity, he turned to his superior and said, “Captain. What should we do? He’s not on the list.”

_ Oh, thank Talos, _ Gyrus thought as he sighed in relief. Of course he wouldn’t be on the list!

“Forget the list. He goes to the block,” the Captain ordered dismissively, crushing any relief Gyrus had felt moments before.

“_What? _” Gyrus yelped as his blood ran cold and his face paled.

“By your orders, Captain,” the soldier replied before addressing Gyrus. “I’m sorry,” the man said sincerely. “At least you’ll die here, in your homeland.”

_ What? No this can’t be real_. Gyrus started to hyperventilate. “Why?” he croaked, his eyes watering despite his dry throat. “I haven’t done anything!”

“It’s just orders, kinsman,” the soldier replied. “If it helps, I’ll see to it that your remains are returned to your family. Now follow the Captain, prisoner,” the soldier ordered more professionally, but the words sounded distant. Gyrus swayed in place, panic rooting him to the spot, until the quiet helmeted Imperial gripped him by the arm hard enough to bruise and dragged him into line with the other Stormcloaks.

Gyrus barely even registered when one of the high-ranking Imperials, probably General Tullius, stepped in front of the prisoners and began speaking to Ulfric. Gyrus’s mind swirled with fear, and he started sobbing quietly.

_ I don’t want to die_, he thought frantically, breath stuttering. He wanted to stay with his family – this would devastate them. He wanted to watch his younger siblings grow up and his older siblings get married. He wanted to become a renowned Dwemer historian and scholar, known for his expertise of Dwemer engineering methods and inventions. He wanted to eat his mother’s dumplings and be crushed in his father’s bear hugs and bother his neighbors with his theories of the Dwemer. He didn’t want to leave.

Then there was a ** _noise_**, and Gyrus startled badly. It sounded like the echoing cry of some large animal, except it simultaneously sounded something like “**Zu’u lost daal!**” yet Gyrus also had the strangest feeling that someone was saying, “_I have returned!_”

“What was that?” the Captain’s second said. Everyone glanced around in confusion.

“Who said that?” Gyrus hissed to the brown-haired Stormcloak next to him.

The man gave him a disgusted glare and replied, “That Imperial, weakling.”

Gyrus ignored the jab and said, “No, not him. The other thing.”

The Stormcloak eyed him like he was crazy and side-stepped as far from Gyrus as he dared without drawing the attention of the Imperials.

_ Great, so now I’m hallucinating, on top of everything else_, Gyrus thought hysterically, his panic returning full-force now that the distraction was gone. The Priestess of Arkay, who had begun to give the group of prisoners their last rites, was not helping matters.

“...commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you—”

“For the love of Talos, shut up and let’s get this over with!” the brown-haired Stormcloak next to Gyrus hollered, striding suddenly and rebelliously towards the execution block without even being called. There was rustling as Imperials around the square readied their weapons, and Gyrus spent a heart-stopping moment thinking they would all be cut down by jumpy soldiers. But then Tullius waved for the soldiers to relax, once it became clear that the Stormcloak wasn’t running or attacking, just overzealous.

“As you wish,” the Priestess of Arkay said irritably, once the yard had calmed. Gyrus released a gusty sigh, his racing heart slowing. He wasn’t dead – not yet, at least.

There was a moment of hesitation among the Imperials, unsure of how to deal with this breach of protocol. “Come on, I haven’t got all morning!” the Stormcloak taunted, erasing the moment’s indecision. The Imperial captain stepped forward, firmly gripping the Stormcloak by the back of his armor, and pushed him into position on the block, his neck perfectly exposed for severing. 

Gyrus wanted to look away. He willed for his head to turn or his eyes to close. But his gaze was transfixed on the doomed Stormcloak and the headsman who was readying his axe. “My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials,” the Stormcloak sneered defiantly. “Can you say the same?”

The axe fell. With a sickening crunch, the Stormcloak’s head fell away from his body into the basket below the block. Sunlight glinted from ribbons of blood streaming from the severed neck. More blood splattered on the ground from where the limp body toppled over.

Gyrus wasn’t sure how he managed to keep himself from vomiting. He couldn’t hear anything beyond ringing in his ears and his thundering heartbeat for a few moments. This… this was going to be his fate. _ I don’t want this_, he thought as he started to cry again.

Sound returned to him just as the Imperial Captain ordered, “Next, the Nord in the rags!” After a moment’s pause, she added, under her breath, “If we’re going out of order, might as well get rid of the irritating one next.”

Another ominous roar echoed through the sky. Gyrus shook his head and ignored the undertone of, “**Zu’u los bo, Dovah!**” and the feeling of, “_I am coming, Dovah!_” that simultaneously accompanied it. Now was _ not the time _ to be hallucinating words where there were none.

“There it is again. Did you hear that?” the Captain’s second noted uneasily as he looked around.

“I said, next prisoner!” the Captain repeated, ignoring the other soldier’s concern.

No one made a move forward. Gyrus was about to look around to see who was the unfortunate soul next for execution when he was suddenly shoved from behind. Gyrus stumbled and nearly fell on his face from the unexpected push. As he staggered to right himself, he found that he was next to the execution block, near enough to trip over the Stormcloak’s body.

“To the block, prisoner. Nice and easy,” the Captain’s second directed.

Gyrus made a noise between a squeak and a gurgle, completely petrified. Then unyielding gauntleted hands twisted into his clothes and forced him to his knees, facing the block. From where he was kneeling, Gyrus could still feel the warmth of the decapitated body sprawled to his right.

_ Divines, please tell me this isn’t happening! _ Gyrus panicked as the executioner shifted beside him. Almost as if to answer him, Gyrus found himself thrust onto the block and pinned in place. The rough wood of the block scraped against his cheek, and thick warm liquid coated his face and neck. The smell of iron filled his nose.

_ Blood. _

It took just a split second for Gyrus to process that his head was currently resting on the executioner’s block, and that his blood was about to join the deceased Stormcloak’s. 

“_No! _” he cried, straining against the hands holding him in place, but they barely budged. Gyrus felt more than heard the headsman moving to ready his axe.

_ I don’t want to die like this! _he screamed internally, still struggling. 

But then he froze, completely still, as his unique vantage point gave him the perfect view of a massive winged beast cresting the nearby ridge with a scream layered with _“_**Zu’u los het!**” yet also “_I am here!_” All thoughts of his impending execution fled his mind in an instant.

“_What _ in Oblivion is _ that_?” the General exclaimed.

“Sentries! What do you see?” the Captain demanded, as though unable to see the beast.

She was answered with a ground-shaking _ thud _ as the beast landed on top of a nearby stone tower Gyrus had paid exactly zero attention to beforehand. Gyrus barely noticed that the hands holding him down disappeared and that the executioner, his axe poised to strike, was knocked over from the impact. He felt gripped by the beast’s gleaming, inhuman, hungry red eyes that seemed to pierce him straight to his soul.

There was a brief moment of stillness. Then, with a terrified scream, all hell broke loose.

_ “Dragon!” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the end of each chapter, there will be a small section for non-Skyrim people defining or explaining concepts that didn't get explained in-chapter. 
> 
> Dwemer: an elvish race that mysteriously vanished from existence during a catastrophic event thousands of years ago, leaving behind only their architectural structures and inventions as proof of their existence. Their technology far outpaces anything Tamriel has to offer in modern times. Exploring Dwemer ruins can be richly rewarding but also extremely dangerous, given that the automated guards are still functioning.
> 
> Tamriel: the continent which houses all major countries and provinces mentioned. Skyrim occupies its northern reaches. Cyrodiil, which occupies the center of the continent, is home to the Empire, the major political powerhouse of Tamriel. Skyrim is an annexed province of the Empire.
> 
> Stormcloak Rebellion: some native Nords of Skyrim (the race native to Skyrim) took deep offense to non-Nords essentially taking over Skyrim, as well as some of their religious practices (the banning of the worship of Talos, a Nordic Divine, or deity). Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl (leader/governor) of Windhelm (one of Skyrim's major cities), has waged a rebellion against the Empire ever since the signing of the White-Gold Concordat a few decades prior, formalizing Skyrim's status as an Imperial province.


	2. A Stay of Execution

Everything devolved into chaos.

From atop the stone tower, amid shouting and suddenly disorganized people, the dragon unleashed a mighty roar that held the undertone of “_**Lok yol mah!** _” but also something… more, that transcended words. The sky turned a frightening reddish hue, and the air grew heavy and stifling. Many people were yelling and screaming; one of the voices amongst them ordered, “Don’t just stand there, kill that thing!” But Gyrus could barely hear any of them between the echoes of the roar and the ringing in his ears.

Another thunderous roar, agonizingly loud and layered with “_**Fus roh dah!** _” burst from the beast’s maw, shaking the ground beneath Gyrus hard enough to dislodge him from the executioner’s block. He hit the ground hard, unable to catch himself with his bound hands, and his head smacked the cobblestone so hard he felt like he was seeing stars. Dazed and hurting, Gyrus blinked blearily to try to clear his suddenly fuzzy, smeared vision. 

“Guards! Get the townspeople to safety!” someone yelled, but to Gyrus, it sounded muted and tinny. He also started hearing rhythmic thudding, like something heavy was falling, but it sounded hollow and distant. 

Whatever was happening, Gyrus was acutely aware that he was _ not _ safe. The resounding pain in his head was disorienting, and the blurry world seemed to tilt on its axis. He tried to scramble to his feet, but between the pain in his head and the bonds on his hands, he only made it to his knees. 

“Come on, kinsman, get up! The gods won’t give us another chance!” the voice of the Stormcloak from earlier sounded in front of him. Accentuating the Stormcloak’s words was a belligerent scream from the dragon, though it thankfully seemed a bit more distant than earlier.

Head still throbbing terribly, Gyrus made another attempt to stand and was just barely successful, wobbling on unsteady knees. With the world still a blur to him, he blindly stumbled forward. He paid no attention to where he was going; all he knew was that he needed to run anywhere but here.

Rough hands steadied him and guided him away. Gyrus blinked once more, the touch grounding him more firmly. And even though his skull still ached, Gyrus finally found himself able to make out his surroundings. 

Helgen was absolutely _ wrecked_. In the handful of moments Gyrus had been dazed, the simple streets of the small town had been transformed into a fiery wasteland, littered with dead bodies and smoldering debris. The simple wood and thatched houses were burning, and the meager plots of crops were blackened and dead. 

The Stormcloak abruptly yanked them both to the side, just in time to avoid a flaming rock falling from the sky that landed with a jarring crash. Gyrus noticed, with horror, that _ dozens _ of fiery meteors were plunging from the clouds, mercilessly bombarding the town and wrecking havoc.

Gyrus glanced back the way he’d come on reflex. Among the debris was the execution block, looking small and insignificant surrounded by flames. Protruding from underneath a rather large, smoldering rock not far from the execution block was the axe that had been about to end his life not even minutes ago, clenched in the hand of an arm sticking out from underneath the rock. Between that and the spiking pain in his skull, Gyrus nearly vomited right there and then.

Another echoing roar, this one layered with “**Hi fen pah oblaan!**” and “_You will all die!_” brought Gyrus’s attention back to his current situation: being half-dragged by the Stormcloak soldier, away from certain death either by Imperial execution (which seemed unlikely at this point) or by dragon.

“This way!” the Stormcloak bellowed, guiding Gyrus up a few steps to a stone building. A shred of strength returned to Gyrus’s legs as they surged past the threshold, and then the heavy wooden door thudded closed behind them just in time to shield them all from a direct blast of flames from the dragon.

Once the Stormcloak released him, Gyrus staggered over to lean on a stone wall and breathed heavily, willing the pounding in his head to subside and his legs to steady. He closed his eyes, taking the opportunity to regain his strength, and only listened with half an ear to the conversation near him.

“Jarl Ulfric!” the Stormcloak said, with a touch of controlled panic. “What is that thing? Could the legends be true?”

“Legends don’t burn down villages,” a deep voice replied, troubled. 

Gyrus’ eyes snapped open when the dragon roared again, sounding close and angry. His ears buzzed with “**Volaan bein Dovah!**” and “_Useless false Dovah!_” He also noticed that in mere moments, his vision had cleared enough for him to make out that he was in a circular stone tower with a handful of Stormcloaks, a couple of whom were fatally injured. The pain in his head had subsided too, at least enough to concentrate through it.

“We need to move, now!” Ulfric bellowed, prompting the gathered rebels into action.

Gyrus could only spare a sympathetic look for the injured and dying rebels before he followed some Stormcloaks to the steep stone staircase up the tower.

_ I am _ ** _not_ ** _ dying today_, Gyrus thought, determined, ignoring his body’s aches and pains. He hadn’t wanted to die earlier, and he didn’t want to die now. He had been granted a reprieve from death, mere seconds before his execution, and he would not let it go to waste. Right now, following the Stormcloaks seemed to be his best chance of survival, so that’s what he did.

“Up through the tower, let’s go!” the Stormcloak from the cart shouted, herding soldiers toward the stairs. Gyrus felt a bit guilty that he had already forgotten the Stormcloak’s name when the man had undoubtedly saved his life earlier.

“Move, up the tower!” Ulfric boomed from behind.

“Come on, before the dragon burns down the whole village!” another Stormcloak urged.

Gyrus was forced to stop climbing about halfway up the tower, stuck behind a cluster of Stormcloaks that were blocking the stairs. Peering around them impatiently, he saw that the tower had already been damaged, with rubble blocking the path forward. The two soldiers squeezed side-by-side at the front had already started clearing the blockage.

“What’s the holdup?” Ulfric demanded from near the back of the line.

One of the soldiers called back, “We just need to move some of these—” 

Whatever the man was going to say was lost as the wall of the tower suddenly _ exploded _inwards, crushing all the soldiers in front of Gyrus. Debris passed barely a hair’s breadth in front of Gyrus’ nose. In shock and terror, Gyrus jerked back hard enough to knock the Stormcloak behind him sideways off the narrow stairs to the ground floor, and then he lost his footing and tumbled down the stairs himself. With his hands bound, he was unable to catch himself, but his short descent was stopped by strong hands catching his shoulders and steadying him. Both his old injuries and a handful of new scrapes and bruises flared angrily. 

Before the world could stop spinning, Gyrus was pressed against the wall of the tower just in time to avoid a huge plume of fire crackling with “_**Yol toor shul!** _” that flooded the spot Gyrus had just been standing in. Instinctively, he threw his arms in front of his face against the sudden blistering heat, and he gagged at the smell of burning flesh and the sounds of the agonized screams of burning, dying Stormcloaks behind him.

Once the heat vanished, Gyrus gaped wide-eyed at the blackened stone where he’d stood mere seconds ago, then at the massive snout of the dragon that was awkwardly crammed through the hole in the wall. The snout suddenly withdrew with a hiss that echoed with “**Hin slen pah ag!**” and “_Your flesh will burn!_”, and the tower shook as the dragon launched away from it with a furious roar. Before Gyrus could dwell much upon yet another brush with death that day or the dead rebels, the hands that had steadied and protected him were dragging him back up the stairs. Gyrus nearly fell out of the gaping hole in the wall from the momentum as the hands, about the only thing keeping him upright, vanished. But before he could plummet from the tower, he was grabbed by the collar of his ragged shirt and pulled back to face the same Stormcloak from earlier, his face pale but determined. 

“See the inn over there? Jump through the roof and keep going!” the Stormcloak pointed and yelled over the chaos, which was much louder now without the stone wall to buffer it. Following the man’s finger, Gyrus’s gaze landed upon the collapsed roof of a nearby smouldering, two-story building.

Before Gyrus could even think to protest about the insanity of that idea, the Stormcloak practically tossed Gyrus from their spot in the tower towards the hole in the destroyed roof. Gyrus barely had time to yell before he fell through the hole into the building. Hitting the floor hard enough to knock the wind right out of his lungs, he tumbled along the floor from the momentum, unable to catch or stop himself with his hands bound, until he hit the wall. Struggling to catch his breath in the hot, smoky air, he painfully staggered to his feet and searched for a way out. 

Quickly glancing around the structure, Gyrus spotted a gaping hole in the floor on the other side of the room and stumbled over to it. After peering through to check if he’d be landing in flames – which he wouldn’t – he jumped, just as he heard thuds from behind him from the other Stormcloaks landing from the tower. Gyrus landed hard on the first floor of the inn, and his legs gave out unexpectedly. Hands still bound, he was unable to successfully stop his fall and hit the floor face-first. Gyrus coughed through the smoke and tried to ignore the resurgent headache, the taste of blood in his mouth flowing from his hurting nose, and his body’s various other aches and pains from being yanked around, without the use of his arms, with unsteady balance. Obviously, the restraints around his wrists were posing a massive problem.

_ Okay, just have to get these off and get out of here_, Gyrus thought as he quickly scanned the room for something to cut his bindings. Spying a broken barrel, Gyrus hurried to it and started frantically sawing the ropes on the shattered metal hoops of the barrel. 

_ Come on, come on, come off already! _ Gyrus mentally pleaded as he desperately willed the thick ropes to be severed. Haphazardly sawing, he paid no attention to the additional minor cuts he was accumulating on his hands and forearms. After what felt like ages crouched among the flames, the ropes between his hands snapped, freeing him. Rope was still coiled around his raw and bloody wrists, but at least Gyrus could now use his arms. As much as he wanted to relish his freedom, shouts from the Stormcloaks and a flaming piece of roof collapsing behind him reminded him that he had to _ move_.

Gyrus didn’t have time to wait for the Stormcloaks to find another way around the debris, with the house as unsteady as it was. Running to the doorway, he quickly peeked outside. For a flaming wasteland, the street outside the house seemed safe enough. Since there appeared to be no dragon and rocks had stopped falling, he dashed into the street and tried to figure out which way was safe.

“Haming, you need to get over here. Now!” someone shouted. Gyrus spotted an Imperial – the man who was the second to that woman Captain – coaxing a boy to come join him and a handful of villagers huddled behind some rubble. Gyrus decided that running over and joining them out of the open would be smart, given that the dragon was now flying around the stone tower he’d just fled, much too close for comfort.

“That a boy. You’re doing great!” the Imperial encouraged as the boy ran to join the group behind the rubble. The Imperial nodded curtly at Gyrus as he also joined them in hiding.

Given that the village was even more of a wreck than earlier and that everything was on fire, with smoke threading through the air stinging his lungs and eyes, Gyrus felt it was understandable that the boy was wailing, even though a man pulled him crushingly close and tried to shush him to avoid attracting the dragon’s attention. Gyrus realized with a start that this kid and his father were the ones he’d seen from the cart on the way to the execution block. It all seemed like a lifetime ago, even though it likely hadn’t even been an hour since then.

The ground shook as the beast landed heavily, right where the boy had fled from, to the group’s horror. Malicious, piercing red eyes glared seemingly straight at Gyrus for a heartbeat as the dragon growled. Gyrus staggered back as the villagers fled, ignoring the strange echoes of “**Hi los aan paak wah hin brod!**” and “_You are a disgrace to your kind!_” In the next moment, he lunged to the side to avoid the column of flame the dragon spat, rolling through dirt and debris.

“Torolf!” the Imperial cried, though Gyrus couldn’t see what he was reacting to. “Gods… everyone get back!”

Gyrus thought he was going to die right then, but suddenly the dragon let out a scream of pain layered with “**Aus dii bah!**” and “_Suffer my wrath!_” Gyrus sat up and shielded his eyes from grit kicked up by the dragon as it took off, still roaring. Gyrus noticed, with disbelief, a brave lone archer on the roof of the tower, harrying the dragon with arrows and agilely dodging flames and claws.

“Gods bless, she’s buying us time,” the Imperial breathed out relieved, far closer than Gyrus was expecting. Gyrus looked over to see the Imperial standing next to him, gazing up at the tower, before the man held out a hand and helped Gyrus up. “Still alive, prisoner? Keep close to me if you want to stay that way,” he said.

“I will,” Gyrus rasped, his throat raw and dry from heat and smoke.

The Imperial led them back to the huddle of villagers, who’d taken shelter behind another mound of rubble further away. “Gunnar, take care of the boy,” the Imperial ordered. “Stay hidden until you have a chance to escape. The men will keep the dragon distracted. I have to find General Tullius and join the defense.”

“Gods guide you, Hadvar,” a man said, holding the boy close. Gyrus felt sickened as he realized that a different man was taking care of the boy... meaning that the boy’s father had been killed.

The Imperial dashed off, and Gyrus had a split second to choose to either stay with the villagers or follow him. _ I don’t want to be a sitting duck_, Gyrus decided as he pursued the Imperial. _ I’ve had enough of that today. _

Running through the streets was like running through a nightmare. The town was completely destroyed, and the bodies of dead villagers were strewn seemingly everywhere. Gyrus hoped that someone would come after the disaster and give the bodies a proper burial. As much as he didn’t want to think it, there was a chance Gyrus might be joining them soon, and _ he _would want to be properly buried.

As the Imperial led them through a small alley between the husk of a house and a stone wall, he threw out a hand and advised, “Stay close to the wall!” Gyrus pressed himself to stone just in time to avoid being clipped by a massive black, membranous wing as the dragon perched on top of the wall. Gyrus scarcely dared to breathe, afraid that the beast would notice them and roast them. Hemmed in by the alley, there would be no chance to escape.

Gyrus heard the roar of flames and felt blistering heat once more, but the fire wasn’t directed at him. Agonized shouts from beyond the destroyed house told him what the dragon was aiming at. Then, by the grace of the Divines, the dragon took off again as quickly as it had landed. Gyrus almost couldn’t believe how many close shaves with death he’d escaped in the past quarter hour alone.

“Quickly, follow me!” the Imperial said. Gyrus refocused on his surroundings and followed the Imperial as they threaded through the remains of a handful of ruined, smoldering houses. In one of the wrecked houses, there was a dying man collapsed in a corner, wheezing for breath. Gyrus hated that all he could do was offer a quick “sorry” for comfort before he had to keep moving, following the Imperial back out onto the street. The only reason he wasn’t crying from all the carnage, Gyrus thought, was because he couldn’t; he was too dehydrated.

Gyrus lost the Imperial he’d been following once they reached disorganized group of Imperial soldiers, many of whom were shooting arrows at the dragon, though a few were wielding magic. “Die! For the love of the gods, die!” one of them shouted desperately. Gyrus sympathized.

Before Gyrus could figure out which way to go next, the dragon landed with a ground-shaking thud near the soldiers and roared. Gyrus ignored the echoes of “**Hi los vobalaan do hin suleyk!**” and “_You are unworthy of your power!_” and rethought the wisdom of his decision to follow the soldier instead of the civilians, because at least the civilians weren’t actively antagonizing the beast. Thankfully, the dragon currently seemed to be more interested in attacking the people with weapons instead of Gyrus. It couldn’t seem to get a good vantage point to crisp the whole group of soldiers while on the ground, either, so Gyrus just had to avoid those wicked fangs and claws.

Then Gyrus was suddenly knocked to the ground by something heavy crashing into him. Gasping for air through the pain of the impact, he reflexively shoved the thing off of him and then was paralyzed, for a moment, upon seeing that it was the dead body of a soldier – rather, a mangled _ half _the body of a soldier – its glassy eyes staring into his. Gyrus scrambled away and dry-heaved, the horror of the situation finally overwhelming him.

_ Come on, get up, otherwise you’ll end up just like that! _Gyrus screamed at himself internally as he frantically forced himself back to his shaking feet, even though he felt like curling into a ball and hiding until everything went away. His moments of inattention had cost him; he was now much too close to the fighting for comfort. The dragon wasn’t facing him, but he was only a few paces away from its tail. At this close distance, the dragon looked even more monstrous, covered in twisting, spiny black scales and sharp spikes. 

A sword-wielding, helmeted soldier was slashing at the tail, yelling angrily. Gyrus noticed the tail rising, as if to crush the soldier, and before he could even think about it, he was surging forward and tackling the soldier away just as the tail crashed to the ground. Visions of dead bodies and glassy eyes danced through his mind before he willed them away. 

“Watch out for the tail!” someone shouted belatedly, a moment before a massive gust of wind informed Gyrus that the dragon was taking off again, and he shielded both his face and the soldier’s as best as he could from dirt and debris.

Before the wind had completely died, Gyrus found himself roughly shoved off of the soldier. He found himself meeting the irritated green eyes of a red-haired woman; her helmet had apparently fallen off in the scuffle.

However, before she could say anything, an authoritative voice shouted, “Soldiers! Into the keep; we’re leaving!”

“Right,” she muttered, and then she effortlessly straightened as Gyrus struggled to his feet. She looked like she was about to rejoin the main group of soldiers, but Gyrus noticed the familiar face of the Captain’s second running past, beckoning. Without a thought, Gyrus grabbed the woman’s steel-covered arm and yanked her after the first Imperial. 

“Hey!” she protested, until the first Imperial cast her a commanding look.

“We’re in this together, you two. Stay close!” he said. The woman made no further complaint, other than to jerk her arm from Gyrus’s grip.

Gyrus panted hard as they ran, his body’s aches and burns and exhaustion starting to reassert themselves. He definitely needed to stop and recuperate soon, once there was a modicum of safety.

The two Imperials stopped after passing an archway, and Gyrus took a couple strides past them before he noticed that they’d stopped… and why. In front of them, blocking the way, was the group of Stormcloaks Gyrus had escaped with earlier. 

_ Now isn’t the time for this! _ Gyrus mentally panicked. He staggered as the dragon landed on the archway he’d just passed under, thankfully facing away from him, and started attacking the bulk of the Imperials behind them, roaring. The echoing “**Dir, mal lirre!**” and “_Die, puny worms!_” barely registered.

“Ralof! You damned traitor, out of my way!” the Captain’s second snapped as he readied his weapon. The woman also looked a moment away from rushing forward and stabbing the rebels.

“We’re escaping, Hadvar. You’re not stopping us this time,” Ralof – the Stormcloak who had saved Gyrus at the execution block – retorted.

“We don’t have time for this! I don’t care what history you all have!” Gyrus rasped, as loudly as he could. He coughed as his throat burned angrily, irritated by lack of water and smoke, and he tasted fresh blood.

“Fine. I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!” Hadvar – the Captain’s second – bitterly replied, his response punctuated with the dragon roaring.

Gyrus hardly realized when the Stormcloaks ran off, or that Ralof called something to him before leaving, as he was too busy trying to draw air into his lungs.

“With me, prisoner. Let’s go!” Hadvar said, grabbing Gyrus by the forearm and pulling him forward. The woman, however, looked like she was turning back around to join the other Imperials or fight the dragon, and Gyrus panicked and latched onto one of the pauldrons of her armor. She yelped in surprise and stumbled after Gyrus and Hadvar. 

“We’ve got to get inside, now!” Gyrus rasped to her, tugging her along. 

The three of them finally burst into the keep, and Gyrus simply collapsed on the floor, exhausted but relishing the coolness of the stone against his skin. He jumped when a series of alarming thumps emerged from the vicinity of the door and ungracefully scrambled away.

The woman made a distressed noise as she tried to push the door to the outside back open, but the door barely budged, scraping loudly against something. “It’s blocked…” she said. “We can’t rejoin the cohort!”

“In that case,” Hadvar said decisively, “we can only go forward.”


	3. Escape From Helgen

“Looks like we’re the only ones who made it. Was that really a dragon? The bringers of the End Times?” Hadvar said disbelievingly, running a shaky hand through his hair.

“We can’t just leave the others outside!” the woman protested, angrily shoving at the door to no effect. “The keep is the most protected place in Helgen!”

“We should keep moving. There’s nothing we can do for the others now,” Hadvar replied grimly. “Prisoner! Can you keep going?”

“Yes,” Gyrus rasped, reluctantly sitting up. “I just need a couple minutes to heal a little.”

Hadvar watched with interest as Gyrus pulled his internal magicka to pool in his hands with a thought, his mental intent and focus coloring the glowing energy a soft gold. “Can you heal others, too?” he asked as Gyrus ran his hands over his various scrapes, burns, and bruises.

Gyrus sighed in relief as his pain diminished. He held one hand on his head and relished his as his vision and his mind sharpened to almost normal. “Not really, I’m sorry,” he replied. “My healing spells don’t work well on others. At least, not yet…” Gyrus reluctantly released his hold on his magicka and let the spell fade away, even though most of his external injuries weren’t fully healed and he still had a headache. He hadn’t been able to wash his wounds, and if he kept healing, the grit and dirt would be healed into the wounds… which he knew, from itchy, painful, infected experience, was something to be strictly avoided if at all possible.

“Ah, that’s too bad,” Hadvar replied, disappointed. “At least you could heal yourself; you were in pretty rough shape. I’m going to see if I can find something for our injuries. In the meantime, take a look around; there should be plenty of gear to choose from. Sounds like the dragon’s moved away, so we should spare a few minutes looking for gear. You’ll need it especially, prisoner.”

“Wait, what?” the woman said incredulously, finally turning away from the blocked door. “We can’t just hand military equipment over to him!”

Gyrus called a trickle of magicka to one finger and shaped it into tiny column of flame. “No telling what will be waiting for us in the keep. You heard those Stormcloaks; they’re trying to get out through the underground passages too,” Hadvar replied. “He needs more protection than those… scraps.” Gyrus carefully directed the flame to burn off the last remnants of his restraints. While they hadn’t hindered his movement anymore, they did chafe painfully against his raw wrists.

“What’s to say the prisoner won’t turn on us the moment our backs are turned?” the woman demanded.

“First off, I do have a name, you know. It’s Gyrus, Gyrus Axelei. Second, I’m not a prisoner anymore,” Gyrus cut in, rising to his feet and displaying his rope-free wrists. “Thirdly, I want to survive and get out of here in one piece. I don’t want to fight. I just want to go home.”

“See, Private? Nothing to worry about,” Hadvar said before addressing Gyrus. “I’m glad you got those off. I would have removed them anyway and released you. I wish we could have met in better circumstances, kinsman. I am Hadvar, of Riverwood.”

“Well met, Hadvar. And you?” Gyrus asked, addressing the woman.

She glared at him, but replied begrudgingly. “I am Victoria Grieve, Private of the Imperial Legion, of Cyrodiil. You may address me as Tori. And know this, Gyrus Axelei: should you betray us, I will not hesitate to strike you down.”

“Erm, okay, nice to meet you too,” Gyrus stammered, a bit intimidated. Not wanting to irritate Tori further, he quickly glanced around the room, which looked like a small barracks, for equipment that could be useful. He noticed a single iron sword hung on otherwise empty racks on the wall, as well as a row of small trunks. In one of the trunks, Gyrus also found a studded leather Imperial-style cuirass and leather boots. They wouldn’t provide a huge amount of protection, Gyrus knew, but they were better than nothing, and _ far _ better than the torn rags Gyrus was currently wearing.

“Did you find anything, Gyrus?” Hadvar called from across the room, shuffling through another trunk.

“Yes, I found some armor and a sword,” Gyrus replied. “You two?”

“Nothing yet,” and “No,” were the replies. Hadvar also added, “You’d better get that armor on. Give that sword a few swings, too.”

“Right.” After quick consideration, Gyrus decided to don the armor over his rags instead of removing them; coarse as the fabric was, it would at least chafe less than the armor. Thankfully, the armor was leather, making it quick and easy to put on. All Gyrus really had to do was fit his arms into the short sleeves, latch the buckles, and cinch the belt. Gyrus grimaced as he forced the buckle straps and belt as tight as they could go, and the armor was still at least two sizes too big. The boots were hardly any better, but at least the footwraps occupied the extra space. Then, he removed the iron sword from the rack, unsheathed it, and gave it a few test swings. Gyrus scowled disgustedly at the sword. It was sharp enough, yes, but it was so badly balanced, it was an insult to the craft of smithing. Never mind what Gyrus could do; he had younger siblings who had not even reached the age of majority who could craft swords better than this.

Tori looked him over dubiously. “Have you ever even used a sword in combat before?”

“I have!” Gyrus defended. “...really only against frostbite spiders, but—”

Tori sighed noisily. “A novice and incompetent then. Just make sure you don’t hit us.”

Gyrus frowned and was about to respond when a muffled roar sent tremors through the keep. Sturdy as the keep had been built, meant to defend against major threats from the south, it still wasn’t immune from the dragon. 

“Let’s get moving; that thing is still out there,” Hadvar urged, reaching into a pouch at his belt to retrieve a set of keys and hurrying to a portcullis on the far side of the room. 

“Is there really a way out through here?” Gyrus asked, following Hadvar through the opened doorway into a short hallway. 

Hadvar replied, “Yes, this keep is—”

“Shh!” Tori said suddenly. “Listen!”

The three of them stilled. Without their footfalls, Gyrus could hear voices from ahead. 

“We need to get moving! The dragon is tearing up the whole town!” someone hissed. 

“Just give me a minute… I’m out of breath…” a woman replied, panting.

Tori crept forward and peered through a second portcullis. “Stormcloaks, three of them!” she hissed. 

“Maybe we can reason with them,” Hadvar said. Tori snorted derisively but stepped aside to let Hadvar open the portcullis to a damp, circular room. 

_ Please, let us not get into a fight, _Gyrus hoped, even though it seemed to be a slim chance, given the way the Stormcloaks were already bristling. 

“Hold on, now, we only want to—” Hadvar started calmly, but an angry roar from the dragon cut him off, and the chance for peace was lost. 

“You won’t take us alive!” one of the Stormcloaks snarled, drawing his weapon, and the others followed in suit.

In response, Tori and Hadvar unsheathed their swords without hesitation, engaging two of the Stormcloaks one-on-one. Gyrus belatedly unsheathed his sword a second later and yelped as he barely was able to deflect the broadsword of the third Stormcloak away from his body.

_ Talos, please, don’t let me die! _Gyrus panicked as he backpedaled away from the rebel, awkwardly slashing with his unbalanced sword. The Stormcloak had the faintest sneer on his face as he dodged Gyrus’s clumsy swings, knowing that he’d gotten the easy opponent to kill.

_ He’s coming in, too fast, I can’t _— Gyrus’ thoughts vanished as he slipped on a patch of wet flagstone and landed hard. Gyrus didn’t even think as he thrust out his free hand, teeming with magicka, and unleashed a torrent of flame. The Stormcloak howled in agony from the sudden burns and swung his sword desperately at Gyrus. Gyrus rolled out of the way and reflexively slashed at the neck, just like how he would fight wild animals back home. The Stormcloak gurgled and clutched at his throat, blood flooding over his charred armor and burned hands, and then he collapsed. He took two more wheezing breaths and then was still.

Gyrus barely realized that the sounds of fighting had ceased behind him, replaced by the murmured voices of Tori and Hadvar. It took him a couple moments of staring dumbly at the dead Stormcloak to realize that the man was dead by _ his _hands. Gyrus had just killed a human being for the first time. His empty stomach churned when he registered the acrid smell of burnt flesh. Killing an animal or a frostbite spider hardly even compared to this.

He couldn’t have avoided it. Gyrus would have died if he hadn’t killed the other man. But that didn’t make him feel any better about how _ easy _ it had been, how he hadn’t even hesitated to preserve his own life.

Gyrus probably would have sat there numbly, staring at the corpse, for a lengthy amount of time, if another worryingly loud roar from the dragon hadn’t sent trembles through the building. Gyrus gasped, as if surfacing from underwater, and shot unsteadily to his feet, still holding the bloody sword.

“We need to keep moving,” Hadvar said tersely, using his keys to open another portcullis. “This way!”

Gyrus passed by Tori on his way to the door, resolutely trying to forget about the body he was leaving behind, until she begrudgingly commented, “Not bad, prisoner.”

Gyrus flinched. He would definitely need to sort out his conflicting thoughts and feelings later, once he escaped this mess – otherwise he probably wouldn’t _ have _ a later. But despite the danger, Gyrus found that he couldn’t pay full attention to his surroundings and barely noticed as they descended deeper into the keep, down several flights of stairs.

Reality fully surged back with a muffled roar from the dragon and the earsplitting screech of stone on stone as part of the keep collapsed, caving in the tunnel directly ahead of the group. Hadvar swore and all three of them stumbled back, coughing and hacking from the cloud of dust. Gyrus was viscerally aware of more grit stinging his wounds. He frantically eyed the ceiling, but fortunately their area seemed stable for the moment.

“Damn, that dragon doesn’t give up easy,” Hadvar coughed, shaking dirt from his hair. “That was the straightest path…”

“Neither do we,” Tori declared, pointing at a door just barely left uncovered by the rubble. Cautiously, she eased open the door and peered inside.

“Should be one of the storerooms,” Hadvar said.

“It looks to be so,” Tori agreed. “It seems safe.”

“There might be potions or other healing items in here,” Hadvar said, following after Tori with Gyrus trailing behind. “We should stock up on supplies while we can. No telling what we’ll encounter later.”

Gyrus immediately zeroed in on a half-eaten meal and a flask sitting on a small table crammed in the corner. He lunged for the flask as his thirst redoubled and he drank, uncaring of the contents. He’d neither eaten nor drank in over a day, at least, but his thirst was far more pressing. Gyrus choked a bit on what tasted like an alto wine, a drink barely stronger than water but still containing enough alcohol to sting his irritated throat. He still finished the remains of the flask and sighed in relief. He was still thirsty, but he already felt a little better. Finally, even though Gyrus’s stomach was twisting unhappily from stress and fear, he forced himself to eat the half-eaten bread and cheese slice; he desperately needed to keep his strength up.

A triumphant noise from Tori made Gyrus jump. He turned and saw that she was bent over a barrel, rummaging near the bottom. In quick succession, she hauled out five small flasks with reddish liquid. Gyrus instantly recognized a standard healing potion, a widespread concoction that could heal minor ailments and injuries.

“Praise the Divines,” Hadvar groaned, grabbing one of the potions and immediately downing it. Gyrus saw his scrapes and burns begin to slowly shrink.

Tori drank one as well, sighing in relief. Despite their actions being unhindered by pain, they had to have been suffering.

Gyrus grabbed a potion of his own and, when met with no protest, gulped it down. Unlike his novice healing spell, even standard healing potions could heal wounds without risk of infection and could heal internal injuries better (like the irritation in his throat or the mild lingering headache). As soon as he downed the potion, he noticed that the burning in his throat subsided and that his headache dulled to a much more manageable level. Glancing at the burns and scrapes on his arms, he watched as they healed further; instead of looking hours old, they now appeared a couple days old instead. Although he would have obviously preferred the wounds to have healed completely, at least they were completely scabbed over now, and he was less likely to get any more dirt and grit in them. After checking his wounds, he noticed that both Tori and Hadvar seemed ready to continue on, having stored the other two potions for later.

“Done, then?” Hadvar asked both Gyrus and Tori. At receiving a nod from one and an affirmative noise from the other, he started to unlock the door. “This way,” Hadvar beckoned as he led both Gyrus and Tori further through the keep. 

Immediately as they entered the next corridor, Gyrus noticed that the path to the right of them had caved in. From the dust and debris still settling, it appeared rather recent too, maybe even as part of the same cave-in that forced them to detour through the storeroom. Just the thought of how they could have been crushed under all that, if they had arrived mere minutes sooner, caused Gyrus’s stomach to churn uneasily. 

Shaking his head to banish these thoughts, he followed the other two as they ventured down the unobstructed path. After descending one flight of stairs, they came to a small landing, and Gyrus could faintly hear voices further down in the room at the bottom of the next flight.

“The torture room,” Hadvar said, as if he knew Gyrus was about to ask what lay ahead. 

“What?” Gyrus squeaked, hoping he’d misheard.

“Gods, I wish we didn’t need these…” Hadvar sighed with a grimace as he descended the steps.

“Aye,” Tori agreed quietly with a troubled look of her own as she followed her senior officer.

Gyrus swallowed thickly as he fought back nausea and dread for what awaited them in the next room. He’d never been inside a torture chamber before. The stairs led to a rather spacious room that had several large cages and sets of manacles fixed to the wall; one set of manacles still held the skeletal remains of some poor soul. Gyrus forcibly ignored further details of the room and turned his attention to the recently killed bodies of two Stormcloak soldiers and two men dressed in Imperial garb, who were the ones, Gyrus presumed, to defeat the Stormcloaks.

“You fellows happened along just in time,” the older of the men sneered sarcastically as he wiped the blood off his short sword on the armor of one of the dead Stormcloaks. “These boys seemed a bit upset at how I’ve been entertaining their comrades.” The man, who Gyrus figured to be the torturer, scanned the three of them sharply. “Those two aren’t supposed to be here,” he snapped, motioning to Gyrus and Tori.

“Don’t you even know what’s going on? A dragon is attacking Helgen!” Hadvar stressed.

“A dragon?” the torturer asked incredulously as he sheathed his sword. “Please. Don’t make up nonsense.”

“He speaks the truth!” Tori spoke up. “As we speak, a dragon is burning Helgen to the ground!”

The torturer shot her a condescending look but was silent for a moment after Tori’s outburst. “Come to think of it, I did hear some odd noises coming from over there…” he looked towards the stairway Gyrus, Tori, and Hadvar just came from.

“Part of the hall caved in,” Gyrus explained, his voice unsteady. Much as Gyrus loathed this place and the men’s occupations, it wouldn’t be right to simply leave them to die. “It’s probably too deep for you to hear, but the entire keep is starting to fall apart because of the dragon, it’s not safe to stay here!” Gyrus emphasized.

“Come with us. We need to get out of here,” Hadvar urged. 

But the torturer only snorted derisively. “You have no authority over me, boy,” he snapped sharply. Gyrus shrank back from the man’s cold gaze.

“Didn’t you hear me? I said the keep is under attack!” Hadvar reiterated. Gyrus could see that Hadvar was quickly losing his patience. 

“This isn’t the time to worry about rank!” Tori added.

“Forget the old one. I’ll come with you,” the second man, who had been silent up until now, said as he stepped forward to join them. Hadvar gave the balding man a curt nod as he joined their small group. 

Once it was clear it would only be the four of them leaving, Hadvar was about to lead them down a passage that presumably led further into the keep, but he stopped when he noticed Tori approaching the cages.

“Wait a second,” Tori said to the others as she inspected the cages with a critical eye. “Looks like there’s something in this cage that might be useful.”

Curious as to what had caught Tori’s attention, Gyrus ventured over to the cage she was peering through the bars of; however, as soon as he saw the partially rotting corpse, he looked away and fought the urge to be sick.

“Don’t bother with that. Lost the key ages ago. Poor fellow screamed for weeks,” the torturer commented casually with a dismissive wave of his hand as he strode away from the cages.

The torturer’s words only made Gyrus even more uneasy and upset. He looked away from the cage and tried to take deep breaths to calm himself, the conversational murmurs of Hadvar and the torturer’s assistant fading into the background. Unfortunately, this only made him more conscious of the small details he’d been ignoring, like the smell of death and rot that pervaded the chamber, as well as the spatters of blood, both old and new, staining the stone floors and walls. There was also another skeleton aside from the first one he noticed when he walked in, occupying the cell next to the one with the more recent corpse. It was only when he heard a commotion from Tori that Gyrus was brought out of his horrified daze.

“Damn!” Tori stood from where she had been kneeling, inspecting the lock. “I won’t be able to force the lock open. I might be able to open it if I had something to pick it with,” she mumbled pensively.

Gyrus glanced away from the cell and the rotting corpse, looking for a less-gruesome distraction to occupy his attention. Quickly skipping over bloodstains and scattered bones, Gyrus noticed a table with a relatively clean knapsack sitting on it. While Tori continued to fiddle with the stubborn lock, Gyrus decided to see if there was anything useful in the knapsack. To his luck, Gyrus found four lockpicks, another minor healing potion, and a day’s worth of food tucked inside. Gyrus grabbed the entire pack and, after a moment’s hesitation, returned to the locked cell.

“Tori,” Gyrus called softly to get the red-head’s attention. When she turned to face him, Gyrus held up the lockpicks. “Would these work?”

“Yes,” she replied, reaching out to take one. “Give them here, quickly.” As soon as Gyrus handed the lockpick over, Tori immediately went to work on the lock, concentrating fiercely. She didn’t seem particularly skilled, but she did seem to know what she was doing.

A few moments later, there was an audible _ click _ from the lock, and the door opened with a strained creak. Once the door was open, Gyrus unfortunately got an even better view of the rotting corpse in the cage. The discolored skin was sagging in places and bloated in others, and maggots were crawling around small holes in the flesh. Movement of air from opening the door brought a _ horrendous _smell to Gyrus’s nose, and he staggered away from the cell, a hand clasped over his mouth and nose to keep out the smell and to keep from vomiting; he could almost swear he could feel bile creeping up his throat. From the rustling sounds from behind him, it seemed that Tori didn’t have the same aversion that Gyrus did to the body.

Finally, Tori announced, “Got it! This might come in handy for you, mage.” Gyrus reluctantly peeked in her direction, and she handed over a small, blue-tinted vial Gyrus recognized as a magicka restorative potion.

“Thanks.” Gyrus tried to give her a sincere smile, but with how hard he was trying not to vomit at the moment, it likely looked more like a grimace.

“Sure, take all of my things. Please.” the torturer sardonically commented. He seemed to only be half paying attention to what the group was doing, which was probably a good thing, considering that Gyrus would be walking off with his knapsack. Gyrus felt guilty as he looped the knapsack’s straps through his belt, but there was no use leaving it behind to get crushed when he would need it.

“You’ve grabbed what you can?” Hadvar asked, ignoring the torturer’s snarky remark. Tori must have nodded, because he then added, “Then let's go.” Gyrus needed no further prompting to leave the awful place and wasted no time in hurrying behind Hadvar and the torturer’s assistant.

“There’s no way out that way, you know…” the torturer called as they left. Gyrus shivered as the torturer’s parting words followed them, echoing down the hall. Gyrus had only seen one exit, aside from the staircase they’d descended from earlier, and he sincerely hoped that the torturer was wrong.

“Is there a way out this way?” Gyrus asked, his voice timid due to the discomforting surroundings.

Hadvar replied, “There are secret passages and tunnels hidden all throughout the keep. Makes it easier to escape if it gets overrun, you know? My new friend here has been telling me about an old tunnel that he believes will lead us outside.”

The torturer’s assistant nodded. “Yes. In some old drawings of these chambers, there was a secret passageway marked, but I have yet to find the mechanism to uncover it.”

“We have to try,” Hadvar said. “It’s our best bet to get out of this place now.”

Gyrus was grateful that the conversation was distracting enough to take his mind off the rows of cells they were passing. “Do you know who built the passage?” he asked. “I’m a scholar of ancient ruins, and certain mechanisms for traps and hidden doors and whatnot are characteristic of certain periods.” They continued out of the hall into a larger room. Gyrus steadfastly ignored the corpses in the human-sized cages hanging from the ceiling.

The torturer’s assistant made an interested noise and replied, “Well, I’ve heard some rumors about—” He suddenly stopped, eyes wide.

“That’s a bit of luck,” Tori commented.

Gyrus reluctantly peeled his gaze from the assistant’s face and braced himself for something horrible. He inhaled, surprised, when he instead saw that part of the wall had caved in ahead, revealing a rough-hewn, rocky passageway that was flickering with firelight. It was obviously not part of the keep proper.

Hadvar approached the opening, then stepped on something wooden that groaned and flexed when he applied pressure. “Looks like all the damage to the keep from that dragon weakened the wall around the door, and it fell in.”

“Someone’s been here before us,” Tori cautioned, peering into the tunnel. “Those old sconces would not be lit, otherwise.”

“What is this place?” Gyrus wondered, ignoring Tori’s concern and entering the tunnel, very grateful to be out of the torture chambers. He ran a hand over the mossy walls; the tunnel was definitely made by man, but it was very crude.

“As I was going to say,” the torturer’s assistant said, joining Gyrus at the front as they traveled through the cave-like passage with Hadvar and Tori behind, “I heard that when they were building the keep, they found a few bits of old ruins and caves when they dug down deep, so they made a few secret passageways for retreat.”

“It looks like they added a few supports down here while making the keep,” Gyrus said, eyeing a stone archway into a larger room that appeared to be constructed of the same style as the keep.

The assistant shrugged. “Well, yes, you wouldn’t want the keep caving in-HNkhgurn...”

Gyrus stared uncomprehendingly at the arrow that had suddenly sprouted from the man’s chest before he flung himself to the ground. He inhaled the scents of rock and moss and something strong and heavy as more arrows whizzed over his head.

“Stormcloaks!” Tori barked, unsheathing her weapon. “They’ve got archers!”

Gyrus looked to the side just in time to see a heavyset Stormcloak with a warhammer charging at him. There was no way his sword would hold up against a blow from that, especially from this angle. Gyrus reflexively thrust a hand forward, his palm glowing brightly with magicka and fire, and unleashed a rush of flame to defend himself.

The Stormcloak fell, howling and writhing with pain. Gyrus realized, a split second later, that the strong scent he was smelling was coming from the rainbowy sheen of liquid splattered on the flagstones… and that the liquid was oil… and that the oil was igniting.

Gyrus wasn’t quick enough to scramble back into the rougher tunnel before the luckily small amount of oil smeared on him ignited. Hissing in pain and recalling many similar incidents when he was first learning his flame spell, Gyrus rolled back and forth over the ground, smothering the fire with dirt.

Once the flames licking his leather armor were extinguished, the external situation slammed back into Gyrus with the agonized screams of the dying, more than just the one soldier he’d set alight. Oh gods, had he accidentally gotten Tori and Hadvar? Gyrus awkwardly pushed himself up, his new burns stinging in complaint.

“Thank the Divines,” Gyrus breathed. Tori and Hadvar were pressed against the tunnel side of the archway, unharmed and watching the fire burn. Gyrus realized he was still out of the open and scrambled to join Tori. She shot him a fiery look when he pressed too close by accident, and he quickly leaned back.

Gyrus took advantage of the lull to run glowing hands over his new burns. The armor had thankfully taken the brunt of the damage, but his forearms were already starting to blister.

The gold on his hands sputtered out just as Gyrus noticed his internal pool of magicka running dry. Internally groaning, Gyrus fumbled around in the knapsack he’d attached to his belt and withdrew the magicka restorative; he wasn’t willing to start draining his life force to keep casting the healing spell yet. He popped off the vial’s cork, uneasy at the thought that it had been sitting next to a decaying corpse for weeks, quickly sniffed it to check if it had gone bad, then quickly downed it. He grimaced at the flavor; it was _ just _ on the cusp of going bad, and cheaply made, too. But it did the trick; he felt some magicka flood back to his internal pool.

Gyrus jumped when Tori abruptly ran through the archway, yelling. He peeked through and saw, through a thin haze of smoke, that his unintentional fire had died down. Tori and Hadvar had engaged two Stormcloaks in combat, and Gyrus couldn’t see any others. Cautiously, he drew his sword and advanced, coughing from the smoke.

There were no more Stormcloaks up that Gyrus could see, and Tori and Hadvar were able to finish off their opponents by the time Gyrus had circled the room, gingerly avoiding a number of burnt corpses and dying rebels and carefully stepping over rocks and a tiny, foul-smelling stream that the main path circled around. The fire hadn’t burned long, but it had burned hot and fast, consuming all the oil that most of the Stormcloaks must have been standing on. Gyrus forcibly distanced himself emotionally from the destruction he’d just wrought. There would be time to break down later, once he survived this ordeal.

“Well, that could have been much worse,” Hadvar said with forced cheer once Gyrus rejoined them. “A pity our new friend perished.” Gyrus clenched his empty fist as he realized that, in the haze of a battle rush, that he’d completely forgotten the torturer’s assistant, slain by a Stormcloak arrow. There would be no time to lay him, or any of the rebels, to proper rest. “All right, let’s see if we can find a way out,” Hadvar continued, sheathing his sword and following the path around the sunken center of the room.

Gyrus also sheathed his sword and followed Hadvar, with Tori just behind him. Once they turned into the next passageway, Gyrus could see that there were what looked like wooden boards blocking the way. As he was about to question what they were going to do about this obstruction, Hadvar approached a lever that Gyrus had failed to notice.

“Let’s see where this goes,” Hadvar said as he tried to pull the lever. It appeared to be heavily rusted with age, and it took a few tries before Hadvar was able to budge the lever. With a loud, screechy _ clank_, the boards all fell away from the opening, and Gyrus then realized they were part of a drawbridge. The bridge gave a strained groan as it pitched downward and fell into place with a loud and heavy _ thud_, sending a cloud of dust and dirt into the air. 

“Will this bridge even hold?” Tori asked as she warily eyed the ancient bridge. “It appears as old as these ruins.”

“Well, only one way to find out,” Hadvar replied as he proceeded forward and took a step to test the sturdiness of the bridge. Aside from a slight creak, the wood seemed sturdy and held under his weight. “I believe we’re in luck. This should hold,” Hadvar answered as he cautiously continued across the bridge.

Seeing that Hadvar had safely made it over seemed to set Tori enough at ease that she crossed next, with no trouble, even though her armor likely made her heavier than Hadvar. But although both Hadvar and Tori had crossed with no problem, Gyrus still had lingering doubts about the stability of the bridge. Glancing through the slats of wood, Gyrus noted to his relief that even if the bridge did give out, the drop wasn’t too bad, maybe about a couple heads taller than he was. With that small reassurance, Gyrus walked across the old bridge with no trouble. Once he got near the solid ground on the other side, Gyrus let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. 

Just as Gyrus was about to open his mouth and remark on their luck that the bridge held, an unexpected muffled roar from the dragon startled Gyrus badly, between his already frayed nerves and not hearing the dragon for a while, and he lunged to where Tori and Hadvar were waiting. While the sound of the dragon was more distant due to being underground, whatever was happening aboveground caused the underground chamber to quake, and, with a rumble, part of the ceiling collapsed just behind them. Gyrus stared wide-eyed as the cave-in decimated the old wooden bridge they had just crossed. 

“Damn it. No going back that way,” Hadvar commented, a little shaky. “I guess we’re lucky that didn’t come down on top of us.”

“What if there were others behind us?” Tori asked, brows furrowed with concern.

“We’d better push on; no telling if the ceiling will remain stable here. I’m sure the others will find another way out,” Hadvar replied comfortingly.

They’d emerged into a cavern that was more cave than manmade structure. There were no other signs of human construction other than a deteriorated, partially buried stone platform, made using an architectural style much older than the keep but which Gyrus was far too frazzled to try to identify. A single skylight, much too small to climb through, provided some meagre light for the rocky terrain and small creek. They must have gotten closer to the surface without realizing. Gyrus inhaled deeply; the fresher air, which brought smells of clean water and growing things and earth, was soothing. They stepped down from the platform and into the cave proper. While Tori and Hadvar poked around, Gyrus went straight for the small waterfall on one wall that he could hear and drank deeply. The water tasted of minerals but was clean, and the coldness soothed his burns and wounds. Gyrus panted as he finally, fully satiated his thirst; he was already feeling revitalized.

“Can barely see anything,” Hadvar said, squinting through the half-gloom. “Which way are we supposed to go?”

“I think I see a couple of tunnels,” Gyrus replied, peering around the chamber. “I have a spell that could help.”

Hadvar nodded in confirmation. Gyrus cupped his hands together, touched his magicka pool, and whispered, in an old dialect, “_candle lantern _”. A small orb of light, whiter than sunlight, flickered into his cupped hands before floating above his head, attached by a thin, invisible thread of magicka. Thankfully, this spell hardly took any magicka at all to cast and maintain. Even with the restorative potion, Gyrus was still running low.

Eerie white light glittered through the cavern, revealing that Gyrus had seen correctly. There were two paths, one to the left and one straight ahead.

“Good eyes,” Hadvar commented. “Let’s try the left path first.”

They followed the left path in single file, watching their footing by the light of Gyrus’s candlelight spell. But the air stopped smelling so fresh, and they eventually wound up right in front of a cave-in. From the looks of things, they’d made it close to the area under the old wooden drawbridge.

“A dead-end. Worse, we backtracked!” Tori said disgustedly. “We’ll never make it out at this rate!”

“We haven’t lost too much time,” Hadvar replied calmly. Gyrus envied the man’s levelheadedness. “Let’s just turn around and go down the other path.”

Gyrus shivered when he heard the dragon roar distantly again as they started down the other tunnel, which followed the small stream. His ears rang with the faint echoes of frustration and “**Hi ruth lir, meyz nol se hin vonun!**” and “_You damn vermin, come out from your hole!_” He winced as chilly water from the thin stream they were splashing through started seeping through the seams of his too-large boots, and he fought to keep his balance on the slippery rocks.

The tunnel curved away from the stream towards what looked like another larger cavern. It took Gyrus a moment to recognize what the strange shapes he could barely see ahead were, and another moment to hurry forward and grab Tori and Hadvar by the shoulders.

“What?” Tori glanced back at him, looking annoyed.

“Frostbite spiders up ahead,” Gyrus replied, keeping his voice low. “I’d recognize those webs anywhere.” Then he let out a hysterical laugh and ran a shaky hand through his hair. “First thing that’s been familiar all damn day.”

“You mentioned you’ve fought them before, right?” Tori said. “Inept as you seem, you must know something about fighting them.”

Gyrus exhaled sharply. “Venomous spiders. They can get to be larger than wolves, though I’ve heard stories of them growing larger than a man. They are slow to move, except when lunging. Their venom numbs and slows you. If you’re bitten, you could be completely incapacitated, depending on the age of the spider, which is when they’ll kill you. They can spit their venom, too, but it doesn’t affect you as much as a bite. They’re easy to kill one at a time, but they often form large colonies.”

“So be fast, and watch each other’s backs,” Tori summed up. “Sounds simple enough. Let’s not waste any more time!” And with that, she dashed forward, her sword unsheathed.

Hadvar cursed while he and Gyrus scrambled to follow her. Gyrus could already see light reflecting off a couple sets of eight eyes. He couldn’t make out the spiders’ color or more than a detailed shape, but he knew they were massive versions of their smaller, leaf-sized cousins with large, grabbing mandibles and eight hairy, spindly legs. Tori had already killed a couple cat-sized ones and was grappling with a dog-sized third; two more of them were advancing at her from behind. Hadvar lunged for the farther one and Gyrus skewered the nearer one. One more spider from further away spit a wad of venom at Tori, and Gyrus grabbed her by the back of her armor and jerked her out of the way.

“Stop grabbing me!” she snapped, keeping her sword in a guard position against the last spider that Gyrus could see. Hadvar advanced on it and killed it swiftly, though he was grimacing.

“We should get out of here before more of them show up from the commotion,” Gyrus said, noting a number of dark holes where more spiders could be hiding. He glanced up at another skylight in this cavern where the spiders probably entered and exited the cave, but it also seemed too small to squeeze through, and Gyrus didn’t want to stick around in the spider cavern, anyway.

“No complaints from me,” Hadvar said, holding one arm awkwardly and scowling. “One of them got me. This stuff wears off, right?”

“It takes a few hours,” Gyrus replied, already heading towards a promising-looking tunnel that seemed large enough for a human to fit through and relatively web-free. Thankfully, Tori and Hadvar were already following him.

“Blasted spiders,” Hadvar grumbled, awkwardly sheathing his sword with his off hand. “What next, giant snakes?”

Just as Gyrus was about to make it out of the cavern, he tripped over something in the gloom he hadn’t noticed and yelped as something hard collided with his shin. He staggered away, trying to keep weight off of the bad leg until the throbbing could subside to a manageable level, and turned around to see what he’d tripped over. 

He gulped, his throat dry and his stomach flipping again. It was a human skeleton, someone who’d fallen through the skylight or who perhaps had been dragged by the frostbite spiders back to their nest for food. Whoever it had been was long dead.

“Weren’t you the one urging us to hurry?” Tori said sardonically with a raised eyebrow as she passed him. Gyrus scowled and limped after her, doing his best to avoid aggravating his newest ache.

The tunnel dipped sharply for a moment before opening into another cavern lit by skylights, too high up to access, and they followed the small stream again for a moment until they reached an abandoned wooden wagon, the wood bleached white and frail with age. Gyrus looked at it skeptically for a moment, unsure of how it had wound up in these caves.

Tori interpreted it for him. “We must be getting close,” she breathed. “You could not get a wagon very far in these tunnels.”

Hadvar suddenly shushed them and motioned for them to stop and keep quiet. He crouched low and Gyrus, wincing, followed suit.

“What is it?” Gyrus whispered.

“There’s a bear just ahead. See her?” 

It took Gyrus a moment to realize that one of the lumps he’d dismissed as a boulder did, in fact, have fur and breathe. He extinguished his candlelight spell without a second thought, and he blinked rapidly to adjust to the half-gloom again.

“What should we do?” Gyrus asked, not wanting to get into a fight with a fully-grown bear. The three of them were all hurting and exhausted, physically and emotionally, and one blow from such a massive beast would be the end.

Thankfully, Hadvar seemed to be thinking along the same lines. “I’d rather not tangle with her right now. We might be able to sneak by, to that tunnel on the left. Just stay low to the ground, take it nice and slow, and watch where you step,” Hadvar said. “She’ll probably smell us, but so long as we don’t bother her, she probably won’t get up to chase us.”

Gyrus gulped. He was pretty terrible at sneaking around, but he’d have to try. He remained crouched behind Hadvar and Tori as they advanced single-file over the rough terrain, every scuff of their feet seeming loud and grating. Gyrus scarcely breathed as they approached and then passed the bear. The only sign she gave that she was aware of their presence was a sleepy grunt as she rolled over.

And then the dragon roared again, loud enough to make Gyrus jump. He put weight on his bad leg in just the wrong way and wound up falling forward, scraping his hands on the ground and yelping. He heard Tori swear ahead of him while he turned his head slowly towards the bear.

She was awake, and looking right at them. Thankfully, she hadn’t moved yet, but Gyrus was taking no chances as he surged to his feet and sprinted away from the bear. From the sounds of their footfalls, Tori and Hadvar were right behind him. Gyrus haphazardly banged into the tunnel walls as they curved and slipped down a slope when light all but disappeared. He collapsed in a heap in the darkness once his energy was spent, wheezing for breath, and he heard Tori and Hadvar stop with him.

“Think it’s following us?” Tori asked, sounding angry.

“No, I don’t think so. Whew. That was close!” Hadvar sighed. “I’m glad she was feeling too lazy to chase us.”

“It shouldn’t have _ been _that close,” Tori sniped. Gyrus flinched. Luckily, she didn’t say anything more on the subject, perhaps too tired to start an unnecessary fight. Once Gyrus had regained a sliver of energy, he recast the candlelight spell so they could see, and they continued onwards.

They walked in silence for some time, too exhausted to make conversation. Gyrus felt his limbs drooping as he trudged forward, feeling a soft breeze and smelling sweet fresh air—

Wait. Fresh air?

“We might be getting close,” Gyrus said, a bit hoarsely. A moment later, they rounded another bend in the tunnel, and Gyrus saw faint rays of sunlight coming from a gap in the rock up ahead, more than large enough for a human being to squeeze through.

“This looks like the way out! I was starting to wonder if we’d ever make it,” Hadvar groaned, sounding relieved.

“Thank the Divines,” Tori gasped.

With renewed vigor in their steps, the group was able to reach the cave exit within minutes. Still wary of the dragon’s presence, they peeked outside and saw no sign of the dragon. The sun was high in the sky; they’d been underground for hours. Gyrus took a couple steps forward dazedly as his candlelight spell flickered out, almost uncomprehending of the trees surrounding him. 

They’d made it. _ He was alive_. Gyrus almost couldn’t believe it.

A swift gasp from Tori made him reflexively look to the sky. Gyrus saw the black dragon, flying far overhead, and for a moment almost passed out from accumulated stress and terror.

But the dragon was leaving. It was flying into the distance, towards the peak of a mountain, and unleashed one long, final roar that echoed with “**Dein hin laas, nikriin! Hevno krii darsul lost lot morokei!**” and “_Keep your life, coward! The bloodshed today has been great and pleasing!_”

They spent a few tense minutes hiding near the entrance of the cave, ready to flee back underground in case the dragon returned. But there was nothing. Save for the rustle of the wind in the trees and the soft calls of insects and small animals, all was still.

“Looks like he’s gone for good this time,” Hadvar breathed, standing cautiously.

If Hadvar said something after that, it was lost to Gyrus, as he crumpled to the ground, curled up, and cried in relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Magic in Skyrim is pretty complex, even in the game, and we'll definitely be taking it even further in terms of mechanics and worldbuilding. Much of this will be explained in later chapters, but for now, here are some basics:
> 
> Magic is produced using two things: an energy called magicka, which all sentient beings have, and purpose, which can take many forms (detailed later). Essentially, magicka is the power and purpose is the shape of magic. Even the most basic of magic requires that the practitioner be able to tap into their internal pool of magicka and draw out parts of it, which requires practice and meditation to learn.
> 
> Unlike in Skyrim canon, if your magicka pool is depleted, you can continue spellcasting automatically by using your life force, like in RoS canon. There is a warning before you start to do so, however: your magic stops working for a few moments, and there is internal resistance before the spell resumes again.


	4. Journey to Riverwood

Gyrus tried to rein in his tears, acutely aware of the presence of his companions. Skyrim did not treat weakness kindly, but this time Gyrus cried, he was at least _ justified_. It wasn’t every day he experienced the overwhelming, crushing relief of surviving a dragon attack.

“S-so what now?” he hiccupped, wiping the tears from his eyes. He wanted nothing more than to curl up under a nearby bush and sleep for a week, but the wilderness wasn’t safe, especially for someone who essentially had nothing to his name.

Tori looked reluctant as she replied, “I should return to Helgen. Help out with the relief efforts, find any remaining survivors, maybe meet back up with my platoon. I would not recommend that you return however, Gyrus.” Gyrus was startled to realize that that was the first time she’d called him by his name. 

Then Gyrus shuddered at the thought of returning to Helgen, among all the death and destruction. No thank you. “What’s the next nearest town? Even if I can’t buy a room at the inn, it’s at least safer than sleeping in the woods.”

Hadvar replied, “Closest town from here is Riverwood. It’s about a half-day’s walk from here; if we leave now, we would likely make it in time for a late dinner. My uncle’s the blacksmith there. I’m sure he’ll help you out if you’re with me. I’m in no rush to return to Helgen either. Riverwood was where I was posted before this, anyway.”

Gyrus sighed in relief and nodded. “Sounds perfect.”

“It seems like we’re going our separate ways, then,” Tori said.

“It’s probably best if we split up,” Hadvar confirmed. “Good luck. I wouldn’t have made it without your help today.”

“No kidding,” Gyrus said. He held out his hand. “Thank you for helping both of us survive, especially me. I know I’m not the most reliable fighter.”

Tori shook her head and clasped his hand. “There could have been worse people to have at my back,” she admitted. “True, you are weak and inexperienced, but you did not flee, even when you were frightened. You are braver than you appear; I can respect that.”

Gyrus blushed from the unexpected compliment. “Thank you,” he blurted. It was the nicest thing anyone outside of his family had ever said to him.

Tori coughed into her fist, a little awkwardly. “You are not that bad of a person. When I meet with my superiors, I will make sure that you get pardoned. You should not have been on the block today, anyway.”

Gyrus flinched at the reminder. His near-execution had been mere hours ago, but it seemed like an age had passed since then.

“May we meet again, under better circumstances. Both of you,” Tori said, smiling faintly for the first time Gyrus had seen.

“Safe travels, sister,” Hadvar replied as she turned and walked off, following a muddy game trail that seemed to lead to a main road in the distance.

“Good bye!” Gyrus called when she was almost out of view, concealed by evergreens along the trail. She raised an arm and waved without turning back.

“We should get going, too,” Hadvar said, holding his numbed arm close to his side. “Don’t want into Riverwood too late.”

“That’s a good idea,” Gyrus admitted, reluctantly standing and staggering in the direction Tori had headed towards before his steps strengthened. “If I rest now, I don’t think I’ll want to move.” Hadvar snorted as the two of them made it to the end of the short trail, which intersected with a main road, and started heading northbound to Riverwood. The worn cobblestone made for easy walking, as opposed to stumbling over rocky, muddy, or uneven ground. 

“Can’t blame you there, kinsman,” Hadvar sighed. “Gods, trying to escape the dragon was terrifying. There were moments when I was certain we weren’t going to make it.”

Gyrus nodded miserably. Even now, he could barely believe he’d survived the ordeal. Just the memories of it sent chills up his spine, and he was sure to have at least a few nightmares in the future. “I just wish I knew why it had chosen there and then to attack,” he sighed. “I mean, I would have been dead otherwise, but…”

“Divines only know why,” Hadvar replied. “I mean, for something to appear out of myth and attack… gods, I hope the Stormcloaks weren’t behind it, and that it was mere coincidence that the dragon appeared when Ulfric Stormcloak was about to be executed.”

“The dragon seemed to be attacking everyone equally,” Gyrus inputted. “I mean, if the Stormcloaks were controlling it, wouldn’t it have left them alone?”

Hadvar grunted in acknowledgement. “We can only hope. Did you notice anything else?”

Gyrus frowned, remembering echoes of words carried by the dragon’s roars. “When the dragon was roaring, did you… hear anything? Like a voice speaking at the same time?”

Hadvar blinked, seeming a bit puzzled. “No, nothing of the sort. Why do you ask?”

“It’s nothing,” Gyrus dismissed. He’d probably just hallucinated the speaking from stress. There was no way the dragon had actually been speaking, and that Gyrus was the only one who could hear it. The implication that the dragon had been looking for someone or something in a human town seemed silly, too.

The two of them walked in silence for some time. Though exhausted, Gyrus was aware enough to take note of his surroundings. The environment was fairly standard for Skyrim: an evergreen forest, sprinkled with the infrequent oak and birch and carpeted with mosses and occasional patches of shrubs. The path wound over a steep landscape, with cliffs on one side and craggy rock on the other, but the path was more than wide enough to accommodate a full cart, so Gyrus wasn’t worried about falling. He didn’t recognize the area, but he could ask for more directions once he made it to Riverwood. Small animals and birds chirped softly among the foliage. The area smelled of green, growing things and life, no hint of smoke or fear or death. It was quiet and peaceful enough to be surreal, but Gyrus welcomed it as an opportunity to let his body and mind relax.

...maybe not too much, as Gyrus found himself nodding off, even though he was walking. He needed something to think about to keep himself awake.

Unbidden, the faces of all the people he’d killed in the keep flashed before his mind and Gyrus flinched, his heart suddenly pounding. That was _ not _ what he wanted to think about. He didn’t want to think about ways he could have avoided killing, even if none of them were feasible. He didn’t want to think of how easy it had been to permanently snuff out a life. He didn’t want to think about all of the loved ones of the people he’d slain who would feel the pain of never seeing that person again. And he _ especially _didn’t want to think about the flash of pride in his skills and joy of surviving he’d felt after killing the Stormcloak soldier in the duel.

A clumsy arm slapped him in the side, startling him from his ruminations. Gyrus looked up with surprise to see Hadvar grimacing and rubbing his spider-numbed arm.

“Sorry,” Hadvar said. “Blasted venom still hasn’t worn off. But, kinsman, what’s troubling you? You started looking upset a bit ago.” 

Gyrus sighed. Hadvar might see it as weakness… but then again, as a soldier, he might have some wisdom to offer. “I...” he began, struggling to put his thoughts into words. “How do you deal with killing people?”

Hadvar made an understanding noise. “You would be surprised how many people struggle with that but refuse to admit it,” he said. “But you can tell who does based on the nightmares and the look in their eyes. You just have to learn to accept it. It’s easier if the person you killed was trying to kill you or your comrades.”

“But _ how _do you accept it?” Gyrus stressed.

Hadvar hummed. “Well, each person finds their own way. Turning to the tankard seems common, if problematic… though, my method is to thank the Divines that my family does not yet have to mourn me.”

Gyrus felt a wave of longing and homesickness crash over him as he pictured each member of his family in his mind’s eye: his parents, his three older siblings, three of his younger siblings… and the youngest, little Astra. How big had she grown while Gyrus had been in Cyrodiil? Gyrus wanted to see them all… but his hands were stained with blood and shame now. 

“How can I look them in the eye when I’m a killer?” Gyrus stammered, distressed.

“No,” Hadvar said, shaking his head. He thumped Gyrus on the chest and said, “Warrior. Survivor. A killer does not care. I would rather fall to a warrior who cared about my existence than one who did not.”

Gyrus shifted uncomfortably. True, his family would probably care much more about his survival than about him killing people who were also trying to kill him back. “But why… why does it feel so bad that I killed them? And even that I survived the dragon attack _ at all _when so many others perished?” Gyrus whispered, shaking. 

Hadvar turned to pat Gyrus on the shoulder with his good arm. “Because you’re a good person. Not as many of you in Skyrim these days as I’d like. Too many of us have forgotten what it means to truly care for others. It’s heartening to meet someone like you.”

Gyrus found himself tearing up and shaking, and he wasn’t quite sure why. He thought he’d gotten all his tears out earlier. “Oh – damn it,” he sniffed. “Sorry, I—”

Hadvar chuckled. “It’s fine; I know you’re not used to this kind of thing. Better to let it out than let it fester, I say, so long as you’re not among unfriendly company.”

They must have made an odd pair, two displaced men dressed in Imperial uniform, one of whom with a bum arm and the other sobbing messily as they walked along the road. But Gyrus didn’t care. It felt good to simply cry.

It took a while for Gyrus to finally wring his emotions dry. He felt completely empty, and the lack of feeling was peaceful. He spent some time just enjoying the scenery and the calm.

A bit later, Hadvar struck up some light conversation to keep them both from succumbing to exhaustion. They were both familiar with long treks, but escaping Helgen had thoroughly drained them both, Gyrus moreso than Hadvar. Hadvar was fairly familiar with the area, having grown up nearby, and Gyrus likewise shared tidbits about his home, which was a comfort to think about.

“See that ruin up there? Bleak Falls Barrow. When I was a boy, that place always used to give me nightmares. Draugr creeping down the mountain to climb through my window at night, that kind of thing. I admit, I still don’t much like the look of it,” Hadvar said as he pointed to the large stone arches now visible on the mountainside across the valley.

Gyrus made an understanding noise and said, “The ancient Nord tombs are pretty eerie. That one definitely stands out. The arches are a very old style, from the Dragon Cult of the Merethic Era. With how prominent it is, I’m surprised it hasn’t been destroyed yet. It’s had to have been there for thousands of years.”

Hadvar shuddered. “There’s stories of jarls’ armies many generations ago trying to march on it to remove a stain left behind by the dragon worshippers, but they only met with horrible failure. Enchantments against intruders, draugr, that sort of thing. People eventually gave up. The Barrow wasn’t harming anyone, so long as people didn’t try to bother it first.”

“There’s nothing like that really close to Shor’s Stone,” Gyrus said, squinting to try to make out more details of the ruin in the distance. “At least, that we know about. Who knows if there are any old ruins that are buried and now inaccessible?”

“Let’s hope they _ stay _ that way,” Hadvar grumbled. “Don’t need _ more _ dangers to worry about.” Then he noticed the disapproving look on Gyrus’s face. “Oh, right. You’re a historian. I don’t understand the appeal, but to each his own. I’d bet there’s lots of interesting things in those ruins, yeah?”

Gyrus grinned tiredly. “Definitely. There’s so much we can learn from them! Too bad most ruins are terribly dangerous. Even the smaller ruins can be difficult to study. And Dwemer ruins – my favorite – are a class of danger of their own. I mean, I’ve only really explored one ruin, but…”

“The Dwemer…?” Hadvar repeated, face scrunching in concentration. “Oh! Those elves that vanished thousands of years ago, right?”

Gyrus brightened. “Right!” It was always a tossup if someone knew who the Dwemer were, particularly if they hadn’t lived near a Dwemer remnant. “There’s _ so much _ we can learn from them! They created magic-based technology that is _ centuries _ahead of what we have now, and some of their creations still work even thousands of years later! Imagine how much we could learn from them from our own benefit—” Gyrus stopped when he noticed Hadvar’s eyes starting to glaze over. “Oh, sorry, most people aren’t interested in this stuff, but I tend to get carried away rambling…”

Hadvar huffed, amused. “Some of that went right over my head. It’s good to see you more cheerful, though. Are there any of these Dwemer ruins near Shor’s Stone?”

Gyrus grinned. “Yes, actually! A tiny one, without a name. I snuck off to explore it a bunch when I was a kid. Got yelled at a lot by my parents and Revna, haha… my oldest sister,” Gyrus explained when he caught Hadvar’s questioning look. “It’s just the remnants of a small personal dwelling, a house. Wasn’t able to figure out who the former occupants were, but just writing an amateur paper on it and submitting it to the branch of scholars in Riften was enough to get me an invitation for a research trip to a small Dwemer outpost recently found in northern Cyrodiil… Sorry, I’m rambling about it again.”

“No, no,” Hadvar replied. “Was that why you were in Cyrodiil?”

Gyrus grimaced. “Yeah. The return trip has been terrible so far.”

“Well, you were mugged, and then…” Hadvar trailed off. “Well. May Kynareth bless the rest of your voyage home, kinsman.”

“Thanks,” Gyrus said. “Getting mugged wasn’t too bad compared to the dragon, honestly. I wasn’t carrying much with me, though I am upset that I lost all the small Dwemer artifacts I was bringing home, as well as my notes from the trip and another important personal project… I ought to find some ink and parchment soon before my memory fades more…”

_ It’s so nice to think about my work again_, Gyrus thought as he mentally catalogued everything he needed to write down when he had the chance. He was sure he was already forgetting a few things.

“Listen,” Hadvar said uncomfortably, distracting Gyrus from his thinking. Gyrus blinked as he realized that they’d traveled further than he’d realized while caught in his own thoughts. They’d nearly wound down to the base of the cliffs; Gyrus could see a river not far below.

After a moment, Hadvar continued, “As far as I’m concerned, you’ve already earned your pardon. But until we get that confirmed by General Tullius, just stay clear of other Imperial soldiers and avoid any complications, alright?”

Gyrus flinched. “You really think they’d try to execute me again?” he asked, his good mood evaporating.

“I’d think likely not, because your name wasn’t even on the execution list, but you can never know with some of the officers,” Hadvar replied uneasily. “Just keep your head down. Between myself and Tori, we’ll do our best to make sure you stay off the block.”

“Thanks,” Gyrus murmured as he rubbed his face wearily, his fatigue suddenly catching up with him.

They traveled for a little longer in silence before Hadvar halted at a point where the road was closer to the riverbank and said, “Stop. We should take a short rest here, clean up a bit. You, especially, look terrible. Don’t want to draw attention and cause a panic.”

The sun was low in the sky. It hadn’t quite gotten to sundown yet, but it was close. Gyrus’s various aches and pains flared, as did the ravenous hunger he’d been ignoring. Hadvar had smartly waited until they’d fully descended to river level; it would be easy to clean off acquired dried blood and grime.

Gyrus unhooked the small pack he’d nearly forgotten about from his belt and tossed it to Hadvar. He noticed that Hadvar’s bad arm was still stiff, but at least he could move it again.

“Got that from the torturer. There’s a bit of food in there we could share,” Gyrus said. “I want to wash up first.” He approached the river and gladly used the cold water to scrub his arms and face as clean as he could manage. The cold water was bracing and helped rejuvenate him, too. He also did his best to remove grime from the armor, but he didn’t want to get it too wet. The leather was already in rough shape; no need to make it worse. 

Hadvar joined Gyrus next to the river after a short period; he must have eaten quickly. He set the small pack next to Gyrus and approached the river himself.

“I left you half,” Hadvar said wearily as he scrubbed his face as best he could with his hands and one stiff arm. “Eat quickly; we shouldn’t linger long.”

Gyrus grunted in acknowledgement as he tore into the remaining food from the pack. It wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy him, but between the food and washing himself, he felt infinitely better than earlier and confident that he could keep going for a few more hours.

“How far are we from Riverwood?” Gyrus asked as Hadvar shook out his arms to try to dry himself, eyeing the sun’s distance from the horizon.

“We’re about two-thirds of the way there,” Hadvar replied, looking himself over to check the results of his efforts to clean up. “I doubt we’ll make it before nightfall, but we won’t be traveling through the night, either.”

“Fantastic,” Gyrus said, reattaching the pack to his belt. “Ready to move on?”

The final part of their journey was quiet. They encountered no one on the road, and conversation between them was short and sporadic. Gyrus could tell that Hadvar wanted to make it to Riverwood as badly as he did.

Finally, breaking the quiet, Hadvar said, “I’m glad you decided to come with me. The journey was much easier with a companion. We’re almost to Riverwood.”

With that encouragement, Gyrus’s steps quickened. As Hadvar had said, it wasn’t long before they reached the town.

The sun had already set as Riverwood came into view, but Gyrus had never been happier in his entire life to see a town. It was almost surreal how calm and peaceful Riverwood was. In Helgen, it felt like the entire world was ending from the hellfire the dragon had brought down, yet here he was, entering a nearby village that was the epitome of peaceful. Riverwood seemed blissfully unaware of the destruction that had befallen its southern neighbor. 

As they passed underneath the wood and stone arch into the town, Gyrus scanned the small settlement; the homey houses of wood with simple thatched roofs and small gardens reminded him of Shor’s Stone and stirred up some homesickness again in him. There weren’t many people out and about, given that it was after dark, but there were a handful of people chatting or working by torchlight. While he took all of this in, he almost didn’t notice Hadvar turn from the main road and approach the steps of one of the houses. Following behind, Gyrus noticed the house had a forge attached to it, and he belatedly remembered Hadvar mentioning that his uncle was a blacksmith.

“Uncle Alvor! Hello!” Hadvar called over a wave to a man sharpening a weapon at a grindstone. Gyrus was impressed that the man was attempting to do so by torchlight.

At hearing Hadvar, Alvor paused in his work and looked up. “Hadvar? What are you doing here?” The smith set aside the blade he had been working on and ventured closer to them. “Are you on leave from…” Closer up, the man must have finally noticed their disheveled state, despite their efforts to try and look more presentable. “Shor’s bones, what happened to you, boy? Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“Shh. Uncle, please. Keep your voice down,” Hadvar said as he quickly glanced around to see if anyone had taken notice of them. Luckily, the few people who were out were too caught up in their own business to pay attention to their conversation. “I’m fine. But we should go inside to talk,” Hadvar continued in a quieter tone.

This only caused Alvor’s troubled look to deepen. “What’s going on?” he asked quietly as he pressed for answers. “And who’s this?” Gyrus jumped slightly in surprise as the smith’s attention turned to him. 

“He’s a friend. Saved my life, in fact,” Hadvar thankfully answered for him, as he no doubt must have looked rather frazzled by the sudden address and would have likely made a fool of himself. “Come on, I’ll explain everything, but we need to go inside,” Hadvar urged.

“Okay, okay. Come inside then,” Alvor relented and led them to the door of the house. “Sigrid will get you something to eat, and you can tell me all about it.” Hadvar and Gyrus followed behind with no protest; food sounded amazing.

As he entered the home, Gyrus was granted reprieve from the chilly, outside air as the fire burning in the hearth warmed the quaint abode. It had the basic layout of most of the houses in the smaller settlements of Skyrim. There were beds relatively close to the warm fire, a table and chairs for dining, as well as a few wardrobes, trunks, and other places for storage, as well as steps that led to a cellar. By the fire, there was a woman stirring something in a cooking pot that smelled absolutely _ delicious _ to Gyrus. The scraps of food while escaping Helgen and the meal from the knapsack had been the only things he’d eaten in over a day, and they weren’t _ nearly _enough.

“Sigrid! We have company!” Alvor announced as the three of them entered the house.

The woman, Sigrid, turned away from the pot to greet her guests. “Hadvar! We’ve been so worried about you!” she said as she strode over and gave Hadvar a quick hug, which he returned. The stiffness in his bad arm seemed gone, the frostbite spider venom having finally worn off. Once she stepped back, Sigrid then took notice of the second guest. Gyrus tried to give a friendly smile, but it probably looked more tired than anything. “Come, you two must be hungry. Sit down and I’ll get you something to eat,” she said as she gestured to the table, then returned to whatever she had been preparing.

Alvor had already taken a seat when he resumed the conversation from outside. “Now then, boy, what's the big mystery? What are you doing here, looking like you lost an argument with a cave bear?” 

Both Gyrus and Hadvar took a seat at the table across from Alvor before Hadvar began to try and explain the unbelievable events of just that morning. “I don’t know where to start. You know I was recently assigned to General Tullius’s guard. We were stopped in Helgen when we were attacked by… a dragon.” 

“A dragon? That’s ridiculous. You aren’t drunk, are you, boy?” Alvor asked, skeptical of the outlandish-sounding claim. 

“Husband. Let him tell his story,” Sigrid admonished as she walked over to the table and set two full plates of food down for Gyrus and Hadvar. It was nothing fancy, just some seasoned salmon, boiled vegetables, and day-old bread, but for how ravenous Gyrus was, it tasted heavenly. He fought the urge to stuff his face as his mother’s disapproving stare flashed in his mind, and he forced himself to eat at a more civilized pace. 

“Not much more to tell. The dragon flew over and just wrecked the whole place. Mass confusion. I don’t know if many others got out alive. I doubt I’d have made it out if not for Gyrus here and another companion,” Hadvar explained between bites of food. 

Alvor pursed his lips pensively and critically eyed the two of them. “We did notice some strange echoes in the mountains earlier, and a good deal of smoke coming from the direction of Helgen. Hilde claimed she saw a dragon, too, but you know how she is…” Alvor sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping. “Divines help us, I believe you. What do you need?”

“I need to get back to Solitude and let them know what’s happened. I thought you could help us both out. Food, supplies, a place to stay,” Hadvar replied.

“Of course! You’re always welcome here, Hadvar, and any friend of yours is a friend of mine. I’d be glad to help however I can,” Alvor said. Gyrus, who had only been half paying attention to the conversation in favor of eating, startled slightly when Alvor turned and addressed him. 

“Like I said, I’m glad to help however I can,” Alvor said kindly. “But I need your help. _ We _need your help. Gyrus, wasn’t it? The Jarl needs to know that there’s a dragon on the loose. Riverwood is defenseless. With Hadvar heading to Solitude, there’s no one else reliable enough to take a message. We need to get word to Jarl Balgruuf in Whiterun to send whatever soldiers he can. If you can do this for me, I’ll be in your debt.”

Gyrus blinked blearily at the man. Between the food, which Sigrid had graciously added another helping of as she listened to the conversation, and the warmth, Gyrus was about ready to fall asleep sitting at the table. “Which way is Whiterun…?” he asked slowly, forcing his exhausted brain to work. “I’m trying to get home. I mean, I’ll do it, but I don’t even know if it’s on my way or not…”

Alvor eyed him shrewdly. “It’s north of here, half a day’s journey on foot. We can talk more in the morning, though. You look like you need a good wash and a rest.”

Gyrus nodded miserably. “That would be wonderful. I just need some soap and a bucket of water; I can heat the water myself.”

“Gyrus, right? This way. Let me get you sorted out,” Sigrid said, guiding Gyrus out a small door to the back of the house. Deftly, she hung a cloth on a line as a kind of curtain, then brought over a lidded bucket and short stool and pointed to a pile of firewood. “Wood’s over there; I’ll be right back to bring supplies.” 

Sigrid hurried back inside as Gyrus started to discard his oversized armor and other gear with relief. He would give the armor and unbalanced sword to Alvor; perhaps the blacksmith could find a use for them. He would wait until after Sigrid returned to remove his makeshift wraps; in the meantime, he removed the lid from the bucket of water and stuck his hand in. He didn’t need to use the wood when he could heat the water much more quickly with magic, a clever trick his mother had taught him to repurpose his flame spell for domestic use. 

The water was steaming nicely when Gyrus heard Sigrid come back outside. “Oh!” she said in surprise when she noticed how Gyrus was heating the water. “Well, I suppose that’s one way to do it,” she said as she laid a pile of cloth and soap on a nearby table. “Let us know when you’re done, alright, dear?”

“Thank you,” Gyrus said sincerely, taking a washcloth and the soap from the pile. He stripped the rest of his garments when he heard the door close once again, lathered the washcloth with soap and water, and went to work. 

Stripping all the grime from his skin and hair was soothing, and as he bathed, Gyrus used the last of his magicka, which hadn’t replenished as fast as he’d hoped during the journey thanks to his exhaustion, to heal the most troublesome of his wounds, the ones that hurt or itched the most. He largely left the bruises alone. He washed the suds from his skin and dunked his hair in the bucket to rinse it, then dried himself with the towel Sigrid had provided, shivering in the cold air. He put on the underlinens and nightwear as fast as he could manage, grabbed his satchel and makeshift tunic, and went back inside to the warmth.

As he closed the door, he caught a young voice curiously asking, “Hadvar, did you really see a dragon? What did it look like? Did it have big teeth?”

“Hush, child. Don’t pester your cousin,” Sigrid admonished gently. Then she noticed Gyrus leaning on the door. “Have you finished bathing, Gyrus?”

Gyrus nodded blearily. His sight was blurred and his limbs were trembling from exhaustion by that point. “Yeah, thanks. Alvor can have the armor and sword I left out there. Do you have a bed I could borrow for the night?”

Sigrid clicked her tongue sympathetically and guided Gyrus to the bed closest to the fire. It was a simple thing, with a frame of wood, a mattress of straw, a cloth pillow, and a thin sheet, but to Gyrus, it may as well have been a jarl’s feather-down four-poster bed. He collapsed onto the bed and was asleep within moments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nord tombs - maze-like burial places for ancient Nords, scattered all over Skyrim. Methods for constructing them in modern times have been long forgotten, and modern burial chambers are much simpler. They hold treasure, but they're also notorious for housing draugr (think a cross between a zombie and angry spirit) and a variety of puzzles and traps.
> 
> Dragon Cult - a group of dragon worshipers who helped the dragons maintain their cruel rule over humans in Skyrim in exchange for power and knowledge. They were wiped out millennia ago, but remnants of them still exist today in the form of a number of ruins.
> 
> Merethic Era - a period of time in history, almost 5000 years prior to the events of Skyrim (and this fic). The end of this era is known as "the beginning of time" by scholars, since few events in the Merethic Era can be confidently dated.
> 
> Jarl - the leader of a province of Skyrim, most like a governor. One of the jarls is High King or High Queen of Skyrim, not quite a monarch but more powerful than the other jarls.
> 
> Shor's Stone and Riften - Shor's Stone is a small town in Riften hold (like a province of Skyrim, which occupies the southeastern portion of the country), where Riften is like the capitol of the hold. Shor's Stone is north of Riften, not too far.
> 
> Dwemer and Cyrodiil are explained in the ch. 1 notes.


	5. Here, Take This

Gyrus woke slowly, to the fuzzy sound of murmuring voices. His entire body felt heavy as he clumsily rubbed the crust of sleep from his eyes. He couldn’t remember dreaming anything last night. Maybe he’d been too tired to dream.

“Oh, he’s finally awake!” a young voice said. Gyrus blinked blearily at the young girl hovering at his bedside.

“Yrsa?” he slurred sleepily. What was his little sister doing here in Cyrodiil?

“Huh? Who’s that?” the young girl questioned. Now that he’d started to wake up a bit, Gyrus realized that it wasn’t his sister’s voice. He clumsily rubbed the last bit of sleep from his eyes and focused on a young girl he’d never seen before standing at his bedside. She appeared to be about ten years in age, maybe a year or two older – about the same age as his younger sister. 

“Where—” Gyrus started to sit up but stopped as his entire body ached and protested. He lay back with a grimace, breathing slowly and deeply. Before he could wonder why he felt so sore, memories of narrowly avoiding execution, dodging dragon’s hellfire, and fighting Stormcloaks invaded his mind all at once. _ Right, I’m back in Skyrim. _

“Hey, are you alright?” the girl asked, concerned, breaking Gyrus out of his thoughts.

“Yeah, just still tired from yesterday,” Gyrus tried to assure the girl as he forced himself to sit up, even though every muscle objected. “Thank you for your concern, um…” he paused, not knowing the girl’s name.

Understanding his hesitance, the girl spoke. “My name is Dorthe! My papa is the blacksmith here and I’m his assistant – I mean, apprentice,” she proudly proclaimed.

Gyrus chuckled lightly at the young girl’s bright enthusiasm; it was certainly a breath of fresh air after the dark events of yesterday. “Nice to meet you, Dorthe.” Gyrus held out his hand. “I'm Gyrus.”

She shook his hand and giggled. As she was about to open her mouth again to speak, the sound of footsteps ascending stairs grabbed both of their attentions.

A second later revealed them to belong to Sigrid, who was holding some folded clothes. “Good to see you're finally awake,” she greeted as she walked over to where Gyrus and Dorthe were conversing. “Did you sleep well?”

Gyrus nodded. “Yes, very. Thank you so much for letting me stay here.” Judging from the light pouring in the windows, it was already late morning. He’d slept for a long time; he’d needed it.

“It was no trouble at all,” she assured. “By the way, I took the liberty of finding you some more suitable clothes for traveling.” Sigrid handed over the bundle of clothes she had brought up.

Gyrus’s face heated in embarrassment at the reminder of the sorry rags he had worn since being robbed. “Thank you,” he said, his face still flush. “Is there somewhere I may change?”

“Just duck down in the cellar,” Sigrid directed, pointing to the stairs she came up from. “Hopefully those should fit.”

Gyrus nodded and took the offered clothes. He winced as he got out of bed and descended into the cellar, but thankfully it seemed like his muscles were starting to loosen up. The cellar was quite spacious, and it held what seemed to be much of the stock of weapons and tools the blacksmith must have crafted. There were also various means of storage like chests and barrels, possibly for raw materials or non-smithing items. Gyrus ducked behind a stack of barrels and quickly dressed in the new clothes. The outfit was just a simple belted tunic and pants, as well as a pair of socks and boots. Everything seemed to fit well enough, thankfully. With that, Gyrus folded the nightwear he had been lent and returned to the first floor of the house.

“I trust everything fits alright?” Sigrid asked as he reentered the main living area.

Gyrus nodded. “Yes, and thank you again for everything you’ve done,” he said as he handed back the nightclothes she had kindly let him borrow.

“As I said, it’s no trouble at all,” Sigrid replied, taking the nightclothes before gesturing towards the table. “Take a seat; I’ll reheat some food from breakfast.”

Gyrus went and sat in the same seat he had the night before. The seat next to him was quickly occupied by Dorthe, who looked eager to ask him something.

“You really saw the dragon, right?” she asked, practically vibrating in excitement. “What did it look like? Did it have big teeth and spit fire? Could it fly?”

Gyrus was slightly taken aback by the onslaught of questions. He _ really _ didn’t want to think about the dragon that had destroyed Helgen and nearly ended his life multiple times. “Um…”

“Dorthe!” Sigrid scolded as she placed a wooden bowl of porridge in front of Gyrus, as well as a plate with an apple and freshly-baked bread. “I already told you not to pester your cousin with this. That applies to our guest as well.”

“But I want to know about the dragon!” Dorthe pouted. 

“I already said no,” Sigrid said firmly while giving her daughter _ the look_. Despite it not being directed at him, Gyrus was familiar enough with it to shrink back a bit and obediently focus on eating.

The young girl crossed her arms and huffed. “You’re no fun.”

“I mean it, Dorthe,” Sigrid sternly said before turning back towards Gyrus. “Oh, Gyrus, Alvor wanted to speak with you once you were awake. He should be right outside; I’ll go get him.” 

“Thank you,” Gyrus nodded.

Sigrid walked to the door before turning to her daughter. “And, Dorthe, behave yourself.” 

Dorthe huffed and propped her head in her hand. “Yes, mother,” she grumbled, and she rolled her eyes once Sigird had turned away and exited the house.

The two of them sat in silence for a couple of beats before Gyrus spoke up. “It could do all that, the dragon. It could breathe fire and fly.”

Dorthe perked up. “Really? Oh wow,” she said in awe.

Gyrus noncomentally hummed in acknowledgement to her words as he looked down and idly pushed around his food, lost in thought. “It was terrifying. When it attacked, it seemed as if the world was ending,” he admitted. “I still can’t believe I made it out of there alive.” He shook his head to clear those thoughts from his mind before he could dwell on them. “Anyway, you mentioned that you were an apprentice blacksmith?” Gyrus asked Dorthe, changing the subject.

“That’s right!” Dorthe proudly proclaimed. “My papa’s the best blacksmith around. One day, I’m gonna make my own sword!” Her enthusiasm on the subject was contagious as Gyrus found himself smiling and laughing along with her as she started to ramble about her knowledge so far and of all the things she planned to make in the future.

Just as Dorthe was reciting how to properly heat the forge, the front door opened as Alvor entered the abode. “Glad to see you’re awake,” Alvor greeted Gyrus. “I trust you slept well?”

“Yes, and thank you again for everything you have done.” Gyrus replied. “Is there any way I can repay you?”

“It’s fine. As I said, any friend of Hadvar’s is a friend of ours,” Alvor assured Gyrus as he took a seat.

“Speaking of Hadvar, has he already left?” Gyrus inquired.

“Yes, Hadvar left at dawn,” Alvor answered. “He said he was sorry he couldn’t say goodbye in person, since he wanted to reach Solitude as soon as possible to inform them about what happened in Helgen. As well as that, he will talk to some higher ups about the mix-up in Helgen, but in the meantime, listen to his advice on what to do,” Alvor relayed, giving Gyrus a questioning look as he repeated the somewhat cryptic part of the message.

Gyrus nodded. “I see, thank you.” He appreciated that Hadvar had been discreet about the whole execution situation. Even though Gyrus was innocent of any crime, he’d rather not have it broadcasted that he had been about to be beheaded by the Imperial Legion. That would certainly not earn him any favors.

“As for our second order of business… It can at least wait until you’ve finished eating. I do think you’ll need the energy, after some of the things Hadvar told me about what you two endured yesterday,” Alvor said. 

“Okay. Thank you.”

Gyrus slowly ate as he conversed with Dorthe and Alvor. Gyrus had grown up around a number of smiths in Shor’s Stone and was well-versed in a wide variety of smithing methods; he enjoyed talking with Alvor about their shared expertise. It had been a while since he’d worked in a traditional forge with traditional materials, thanks to only working with stubborn Dwemer tools and metal at the Dwemer outpost ruin during his trip in Cyrodiil, but he was still able to discuss the normal iron and steel-smithing methods, and Alvor seemed fascinated by what Gyrus had learned about working with Dwemer materials. Dorthe occasionally interjected to excitedly share what she had learned in the forge so far; her enthusiasm reminded Gyrus of the energy of his younger siblings. Talos, but he missed them.

Just as Gyrus finished eating, however, Alvor shifted in his seat and adopted a more solemn demeanor. “You are still planning to take our message to Whiterun, right?” he asked, switching subjects.

“Yes, I am,” Gyrus confirmed, respectfully putting aside the wooden dishes and utensils. “As much as I want to go home, I don’t want what happened in Helgen to happen here. It may not be that far out of my way, anyway. How do I get to Whiterun from here? Do you have a map?”

Alvor shook his head. “No, but Whiterun isn’t far, a little over a half days’ journey on foot. Cross the river and then head north. You’ll see it, just past the falls. When you get to Whiterun, just keep going up. When you get to the top of the hill, you’re at Dragonsreach, the Jarl’s palace.”

Gyrus nodded. “Sounds simple enough to make it there. Now, I hate to ask, but do you have any supplies I can take? I’ll need them for the journey, since I have almost nothing of my own right now.”

“Like I said last night, I’m glad to help in any way I can; we need your help. What will you need?”

“Some basic travelling supplies,” Gyrus replied. “Some clothes and food, at least. Maybe a little money, if you could spare it.” Gyrus hesitated before adding his last request. “And a decent sword?” After all that had happened, Gyrus honestly felt safer with a weapon at his side in addition to his magic.

Alvor nodded readily as he stood from the table. “That’s all certainly doable, especially since I can reuse the materials from your armor and sword. If you’ll give me a moment, I’ll go gather what you requested.” Alvor headed down into the cellar, leaving Gyrus alone with Dorthe.

“Do you really think the dragon might attack here?” Dorthe questioned anxiously.

“I don’t know,” Gyrus answered honestly. “But if one does, hopefully the Jarl will have already sent a detachment of soldiers to take care of it.” 

“But Helgen had soldiers and was destroyed. What if the same thing happens here?” she pressed. “Would they really be able to kill it?”

Gyrus bit his lip and looked away. He really wished he could guarantee that the guards and extra soldiers would be able to handle any problem, but Helgen had all that and more and was still left in ruins. “I’m not—” he started, but was interrupted as he heard footfalls ascending the stairs. Gyrus inwardly sighed in relief; he didn’t have to give Dorthe false reassurance or true fear.

Alvor reappeared and set the pile of supplies he had gathered on the table. “I wish we could spare more, but times are a little tight right now, what with the war drawing away people and resources. Could be worse; I can at least sell weapons regularly…” Alvor trailed off. “Anyway, you should have a look and tell me what you think.”

There were two more clean tunics and one more pair of pants and socks each. In a carefully wrapped bundle, Gyrus found three days’ worth of food for one person, the preserved kind that wouldn’t spoil for a while. A small pouch held two silver and thirty bronze. Not much, but Gyrus would at least be able to buy a handful of other things that he needed. Set to the side was an iron sword in a simple leather sheath. Gyrus carefully drew it and tested it. It wasn’t the absolute best craftsmanship, but even a standard weapon was a massive improvement from his old one. 

Finally, there was a wooden token on top of the pile, carved simply with three trees and a river. Gyrus picked it up and asked, “What’s this?”

“It’s a token that shows you’re on official business from Riverwood. I got it from our headwoman this morning; thankfully she didn’t need too much convincing. That will tell the guards of Whiterun that you need to see Jarl Balgruuf immediately. It’ll save a lot of time waiting to see the jarl,” Alvor replied.

Gyrus bit his lip as it fully sunk in that he would have to talk to a _ jarl_, one of the most powerful people in Skyrim. He’d heard all kinds of stories about them, good and bad. Maybe if he had some more information about this jarl, he would feel more prepared.

“What can you tell me about the Jarl?” he asked.

“Jarl Balgruuf?” Alvor said. “He rules Whiterun Hold. A good man, perhaps a bit over-cautious, but these are dangerous times. So far he’s managed to stay out of the war. I’m afraid it can't last, though, what with both sides pressuring him to join them.” Gyrus breathed more easily, hearing that the jarl was a reasonable man. He didn’t want to be thrown in the dungeons for some slight, unintentional offense. 

“I think that’s all I need, then. This is plenty to get me to Whiterun,” Gyrus said, carefully stowing everything but the sword in his knapsack. He securely fastened the knapsack and the leather scabbard to his belt, both in easy reach. He could worry about supplies to last him to Shor’s Stone once he made it to the city; his current supplies were more than enough to sustain him until then… though he was a little disappointed about the lack of writing supplies for his research notes. But he felt that he couldn’t ask for more, given that Alvor and his family had already been more than generous.

“As wonderful as your company has been, Gyrus, you’d best be on your way immediately. No telling if or when that dragon could appear. Thank you so much for doing this. I truly do not know who else we could have sent,” Alvor said, as he and Gyrus stood from the table and headed to the door. 

“You’re welcome. It’s important,” Gyrus replied simply.

“Good luck,” Alvor said. “Farewell, kinsman. May you have a safe journey.”

“Goodbye!” Dorthe chimed as Gyrus was leaving.

“Thank you,” Gyrus said. He cast one more longing look at the kind home that had allowed him to recover, then turned and departed, following the main road to the north.

Riverwood was a small village, and it only took Gyrus a few minutes to see the palisade marking the edge of town. A few buildings down from the gate, though, Gyrus noticed what looked like a trader’s shop – the kind of store that sold all kinds of goods for both coin and barter.

_ Maybe I could quickly stop in and have a look_, he thought. _ It won’t take too long, and they might have other supplies that will be useful. _

Gyrus eagerly entered the shop, the little bell on the door tinkling. But the sound of raised voices informed him that he’d awkwardly walked in on an argument.

“Well, one of us has to do _ something_!” a woman cried.

“I said _ no_! No adventures, no theatrics, no thief-chasing!” a man rebutted angrily. It didn’t take Gyrus long to notice the two dark-haired humans, siblings by their looks, glaring at each other from behind the shop’s counter. 

“Well, what are you going to do then, huh? Let’s hear it!” the woman snapped. 

“We are done talking about this!” the man roared. Gyrus shifted uncomfortably and winced when his weight made a creaky floorboard squeal. The siblings’ heads snapped in his direction, and they both looked a bit chagrined. The man cleared his throat and said, in a quieter voice, “Oh, a customer. Sorry you had to hear that.”

Gyrus shook his head, a little embarrassed. “No, it’s okay. I’ll be quick.” He did a quick once-over of the trader’s stock, displayed on shelves around the store. “I take it you have a little bit of everything?”

“That is correct,” the man said, falling into the role of the shopkeeper. The woman huffed but stayed quiet. “Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?”

“Writing utensils and parchment. Anything would be fine,” Gyrus replied. “And…” he pointed to the side, where a traveling cloak that looked to be made of sturdy wool hung. “How much is that?”

“Oh, so you’re buying instead of bartering, eh? Well, for starters, this one fellow came in not too long ago and sold me a set of a quill and enchanted quick-dry ink. I also have a journal that’s been lying around for some time; let me grab them for you. Not much use for that kind of stuff around here, so I’ll sell you all three as a set for twenty-five bronze,” the shopkeeper said, ducking behind the counter and rustling around. He emerged with a fair quality leatherbound journal and the quill and ink in question. Gyrus already knew he would purchase them; they looked to be of decent enough quality. “Oh, and the cloak is five silver,” the man added. 

Gyrus grimaced. He definitely couldn’t afford the cloak, even if it would make traveling easier and safer in the cooling weather. “Well, I’ll take these,” he said, gesturing to the journal and writing utensils while rummaging in his bag for the coin pouch. “…What about a map of Skyrim?” Gyrus asked as an afterthought.

“Well, you certainly have some unusual requests for these parts! But yes, you’re lucky I have one of those too – one silver,” the shopkeeper replied.

Gyrus winced; it was certainly more than he wanted to spend right away, but a map would be critical for finding his way home. “I’ll buy that too, then, assuming it’s of fair quality,” he said, opening the coin pouch and withdrawing one silver and the majority of his bronze. He hoped he had enough left for a room at an inn in Whiterun that evening.

The man looked pleased as he shoved his seething sister out of the way so he could withdraw a rolled-up piece of parchment from one of the shelves, and he unrolled it so Gyrus could see. “Quite fair, wouldn’t you agree?”

Gyrus cringed at the woman’s treatment but nodded; the map wasn’t the most detailed, but it was accurate, and it at least showed the major roads, hold capitals, and towns. He could definitely find his way home from it.

“Everything looks fine,” he said as he slid the coins over to the shopkeeper, who started counting them eagerly.

“Perfect!” the man said. “Anything else?”

“No,” Gyrus shook his head. “Thank you.”

“Thank _ you_,” the shopkeeper said as Gyrus turned to leave the shop. “Please feel free to come back to the Riverwood Trader any time!”

The door had barely closed behind Gyrus when he heard the argument start up again. Gyrus was glad to be out of the store’s tense atmosphere. He stowed his new purchases and started on the road again, deciding that he didn’t have time to stop and work on transcribing his research just yet, and it wasn’t long before he’d left Riverwood behind.

The road curved left and crossed the river with a small stone bridge. Gyrus frowned as he encountered a fork at the other end of the bridge; Alvor hadn’t mentioned this. Thankfully, though, there was a sign post off to the side with directions towards a bunch of nearby towns and villages; to get to Whiterun, Gyrus had to follow the right path.

The path wound over the rocky hills leisurely, following a curved path that minimized steep inclines or declines. The weather was nice and cool, but fog crept in between the trees, smelling pleasantly damp. It wasn’t terribly thick; Gyrus could see a fair bit ahead on the road, but he couldn’t see far into the forest. He’d have to be more watchful for anything coming from the woods. Around midday, Gyrus stopped briefly for a quick lunch. There were a few other travelers on the road, but not many. Between the civil war and the resurgence of danger thanks to soldiers being redirected, Skyrim was a lot less safe to travel.

At least this area seemed quiet.

Gyrus had been descending for some time when someone barreled out of the fog. A gaunt man, who looked terrified. Gyrus shifted his weight and grasped the hilt of his sword as the man raced towards him, bracing for attack. 

But the man just tossed something small at him. “Here, take this!” he wheezed. Gyrus snatched the thing out of the air as the man took a sharp turn and dove into the underbrush, the forest and the fog quickly swallowing the sounds of his departure.

“What…?” Gyrus murmured, his eyebrow raised. Perplexed, he took a look at the thing the man had thrown at him. It was a simple, plain leather wristband, adorned only by an inset, glittering stone. Gyrus held the wristband up for closer examination. Why would someone throw this at him…?

An angry shout answered him. Gyrus paled as he watched three other people emerge from the fog, looking furious and hostile. Unkempt and barbaric, they reminded Gyrus of the bandits who had stolen all of his belongings in Cyrodiil.

_ Oh, hell_, Gyrus thought despairingly, pocketing the wristband to free his hands and drawing his sword. He really did not want to fight and kill again, especially so soon, but these people did _ not _look friendly.

Maybe he could scare them off; some people were terrified by magic. Gyrus let fire spring from an outstretched hand, a wide but weak spray to catch all three. 

The bandits yelped and retreated for a moment. But then, undeterred, they spread out widely, the burliest one coming straight at Gyrus and the other two flanking him from the side.

_ Shit. _Gyrus shot a tongue of flame at one of the flanking bandits to ward her off and parried the warhammer of the burly one to the side. But the third one was coming in with a pair of swords, fury and bloodlust in his eyes.

Gyrus only time to think, _ Fuck, this was stupid, _before the third—

An arrow sprouted in his neck, and he went down with a gurgle.

The woman ran towards a new misty figure among the trees, uncaring of her burns, while Gyrus fended off the large one. Gyrus trembled with the strain of holding him off; if his sword took one direct hit from that hammer, it would shatter, and he would likely be dead.

He hoped the archer in the trees had good aim.

There was a pained screech from the woman, so the archer seemed to be faring alright. Gyrus took advantage of an opening to skid around the burly one and unleash a concentrated burst of flame, right in his face. The man screamed and dropped his weapon, clutching at his blackening and blistering face, and Gyrus stabbed him in the throat after a moment’s hesitation. It was a kinder death than likely infection from the burns.

Talos, Gyrus was getting far too used to having to kill people to preserve his own life already. Gyrus hadn’t even tried to talk them down; he’d just reacted on instinct.

The woman was also dying, weakly twitching around three arrows that had made a mess of her stomach. Gyrus sighed with relief and a bit of regret, his hands shaking. No more need for fighting now.

An arrow whizzed past his head, right by his ear. Gyrus shouted in alarm and staggered away from where the arrow had passed him by, but then another arrow struck the dirt, right next to his boot.

_ Shit, shit, the archer’s trying to kill me too?! _ Gyrus thought frantically, panicking.

Then a masculine voice called from the trees, “You don’t seem like much of a fighter, magician. I’m giving you one chance to be smart. Put the wristband you’ve got down on the ground and back away, or the next shot goes through your eye.”

Gyrus swallowed thickly. He had no doubt that the archer could carry through on his threat. “O-of course,” Gyrus stammered, fishing the band from his pocket with a shaking hand. He set it on the dirt, in plain view, and retreated from it. “Is-is it yours?”

A brown-haired man emerged from the misty trees. Gyrus whimpered when he saw that a well-polished bow was drawn and nocked with an arrow aimed right at him.

“Of course it is. I would have thought you knew that, bandit,” the archer said, stepping towards the wristband while keeping the bow trained on Gyrus.

Gyrus’s spine straightened just a bit at the insult. “I’m no bandit!” he protested, before remembering the arrow pointed at him and snapping his mouth shut.

“Oh?” the man said, studying him with piercing blue eyes. “Then why did you have this with you?”

Gyrus swallowed. “There was a man, skinny and sick. I didn’t know who he was. I thought he would attack me, but he just tossed the band at me and fled into the woods. The other three showed up almost immediately after and attacked me…” Gyrus trailed off, realizing that it sounded a bit far-fetched, even though it was the truth.

“This man, what color was his hair?” the archer asked.

“I…” Gyrus thought for a moment, trying to recall what the other man had looked like from a scant glimpse. “I think he was bald?”

For a heart-stopping moment, the archer did nothing. But then he lowered the bow with a sigh and shook his head. “I believe you,” the man sighed. “I have met many thieves and actors in my time, and you have the manner of neither.”

Gyrus gasped, slumping in relief. “Thank you,” he said gratefully. “I have an important message to deliver to the jarl in Whiterun. And I just want to go home after that.”

The archer raised an incredulous eyebrow. “You know, saying you have an important message for the jarl is a good way to get captured by soldiers on either side, or taken by bandits to make some ransom money.”

“Ah—” Gyrus snapped his mouth shut. Too trusting, even though the other man had just been threatening to kill him a moment ago.

The archer snorted as he stooped and picked up the wristband. “Relax, I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “I’m just a simple huntsman. I don’t want or need anything from you. Just take some friendly advice and don’t be so trusting of strangers in these times.”

Gyrus nodded. “Thank you,” he said, standing and brushing himself off. Gyrus took a moment to examine the archer as he carefully reattached the wristband tightly to his wrist, underneath his bracers. The man was a Nord, brown-haired and blue-eyed with a scar over one eye, wearing basic armor made of fur and leather. He wore bracers on both his upper and lower arms, and he’d slung his bow on his back with a half-full quiver. 

“So, uh, what’s so important about that band that bandits would kill to have it?” Gyrus ventured.

The archer sent him a sharp look. “Why the interest?”

“Honestly? I want to know why I almost died,” Gyrus replied bluntly. “It’s… been a rough few days. _ This_, at least, might have an explanation.”

The archer warily eyed him for a moment before shrugging. “You didn’t notice?” He flipped his wrist around to show that the stone was on the underside of his wrist, peeking out between the straps of his bracer. “It’s a pocket stone.”

“Oh!” Gyrus gasped, perking up excitedly. “Those new magic holding spaces! I’ve seen a couple before; they seem so convenient!”

The other man eyed him again, this time as if Gyrus had said something strange. “They… are.”

“That at least explains why they wanted it,” Gyrus said. “Do you know who gave it to me?”

“Pretty sure that other man was the fourth member of this group. He likely double-crossed them, almost got killed, and then probably used you to make his escape.”

Gyrus grimaced. What a pain. At least _ this _incident was totally understandable. Unlike the dragon. “Well, I’m glad it got resolved and you got your property back,” he said. Gyrus stepped forward, keeping himself relaxed as he approached the wary hunter. He held out his hand in introduction. “I’m Gyrus Axelei. Nice to meet you.”

The man looked back and forth between Gyrus’s face and his hand a couple times before hesitantly clasping his hand. “Kodya Karevic,” he replied. “Uh… nice to meet you too.” The huntsman paused, clearly contemplating something, before he said gruffly, “Look, I’m… I was headed to Whiterun before the bandits grabbed my pocket stone and I had to hunt them down. You said you have a message for the jarl, right? Might as well go together…”

Gyrus perked up at the offer. Not that traveling alone was boring, but the time spent traveling seemed so much less when there was a companion. “It would be safer if we traveled together!” he said. “I’d be glad to have a companion!”

Karevic looked like he didn’t quite know what to make of Gyrus. “Yeah. …Then let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're tweaking the monetary system to be a little more complex than in the Skyrim game. Didn't seem quite right or believable for it to be so simple. 
> 
> Also, pocket stones are how we're explaining Skyrim inventories with almost ludicrously heavy weight limits and essentially unlimited space. They'll be explained more in-depth later.
> 
> Pretty sure everything else currently relevant has been explained in the end notes of previous chapters...


	6. The Streets of Whiterun

Gyrus wasn’t quite sure what to make of his new travelling companion. He had been able to gauge his previous two rather easily: Tori was fiercely loyal, with a strong sense of justice, and Hadvar was a levelheaded man with a type of patience few possessed. Kodya Karevic, on the other hand, was closed off and hard to read.

After the two of them departed together for Whiterun, Gyrus tried to strike up basic conversation with Karevic. However, it didn’t take long for Gyrus to notice Karevic adopt a bored, disinterested look, the same kind Gyrus usually only got when he started rambling about the Dwemer. He tried switching topics by asking Karevic a bit about himself, but only received clipped and vague answers. While Gyrus knew he could sometimes be a bit dense regarding social cues, he clearly understood that Karevic did not want to talk, least of all about himself. Gyrus could respect the other’s reluctance to talk and fell quiet, despite how much Gyrus desired to converse to try to not dwell on the skirmish that had occurred not too long ago. They walked in silence, each left alone to their thoughts. Gyrus tried to avoid thinking about yet another death by his hand and focused on planning what he would say to the Jarl once they arrived in Whiterun. 

After traveling along the main road for a couple hours, the evergreen forest slowly gave way to an open, hilly tundra. From his elevated vantage point, Gyrus could see small farms, tough grasses, and a handful of trees speckling the otherwise barren land. Further off in the distance, Gyrus was able to make out a large stone structure that was likely the outer walls of Whiterun. Though there was still quite a walk left to go, his first glimpse of the major hold made his stomach churn with excitement and anxiety. He had never been to Whiterun before, or any of Skyrim’s major holds, for that matter, and was quite interested to see what the major city had to offer. Though it was likely he wouldn’t get the opportunity to explore the hold as much as he wanted, given that his primary objective was to deliver Riverwood’s message to the Jarl. Just the thought of meeting one of the most politically powerful people in Skyrim was daunting and enough to dampen his enthusiasm. Growing up in a smaller settlement like Shor’s Stone, general major political issues (such as the recent Stormcloak rebellion) rarely affected his day-to-day life. With this, Gyrus was completely out of his depth. For all he knew, one slip of his tongue could have him rotting in a dungeon, despite Alvor’s reassurances.

As they drew nearer to Whiterun, they began to pass clusters of farms, mills, and breweries. The number of people on the road also increased dramatically, though no one seemed interested in interacting, and everyone seemed on-edge. It made Gyrus feel a bit uneasy; what if something else had happened? A glance at Karevic revealed that Gyrus wasn’t the only one affected, given the man’s deepening frown and tightening features. They quietly kept moving forward, their pace undeterred by their apprehension. But they both found their hands straying more frequently and more closely to their weapons.

* * *

They made it to the outskirts of Whiterun not long before sundown. To Gyrus’s relief, there were no signs of a dragon attack – no smoking ruins or screaming people. He couldn’t help but stare in awe at the massive stone walls that encircled the city, easily taller than a one-story house all the way around. He could barely imagine the kind of manpower it must have taken to construct it.

Gyrus almost jumped when he heard Karevic make a confused noise, the first sound he’d heard from the man in hours. “That’s not normal,” the hunter said softly, his brow furrowed. Gyrus followed his gaze to a crowd of people milling aimlessly beyond the walls, in front of the curving palisade that seemed to lead to the gates.

“What’s it normally like?” Gyrus asked as he observed the crowd. Was it just him, or did the people seem… disgruntled?

“It’s usually a steady flow of traffic. I wonder if they closed the gates?” Karevic mused as they started to push through the crowd. 

“Guess we’ll find out,” Gyrus replied as they made it to the palisade. Thankfully, the press of people here was much thinner, seemingly because of the antsy guards standing atop the fortifications. It didn’t take the two long to round the palisade bend and see that the large gates to Whiterun, standing tall and intimidating beyond a short drawbridge, were indeed shut. Two guards bearing the Whiterun crest were posted on each side of the closed gate, visibly armed. It was a stark contrast to the openness of the roads into Shor’s Stone and the simple arch leading into Riverwood. 

“Halt!” one of the guards bellowed as they approached, causing Gyrus to jump, startled. “City’s closed, what with Helgen being destroyed. Official business only.” Well, that certainly explained the crowd… 

“I am on official business,” Gyrus replied, quickly searching through his knapsack. He was just barely able to hear Karevic mutter to himself, “_Helgen was destroyed? _” as he pulled out the wooden token he received from Alvor and presented it to the guards. “Riverwood calls for the Jarl’s aid,” Gyrus stated as confidently as he could muster.

“Riverwood’s in danger, too?” the guard said with a trace of alarm in his voice. “You better go on in. You’ll find the Jarl at Dragonsreach, atop the hill. An escort will take you there to make sure you are able to get in without any trouble. As for you…” the guard continued, eyeing Karevic as the hunter tensed.

“He’s with me,” Gyrus blurted out. It didn’t seem likely that Karevic would be able to get into the city, otherwise. “I, ah, hired him as protection.”

The guard nodded. “Alright then, he can come in too. Hey!” he called up to two more guards at the top of the wall. “Open the gate for these two! And find someone to escort them to Dragonsreach! It’s important!”

“Yessir!” one of the guards called back. Gyrus watched in anticipation as the massive wooden gate groaned open just enough for the two of them to be admitted into Whiterun. 

“Thanks,” Karevic muttered to him as they passed through the gates, which quickly closed behind them.

Gyrus was immediately greeted with the sight of people somewhat uneasily bustling about on the worn cobblestone paths and many sturdy wooden buildings clustered together. He smelled people crowded together, sweat and metal, and just the faintest hint of sewage. There was a blacksmith immediately to the right at the entrance of the keep. Given how many travelers must pass through, it likely received a good amount of business. A little further to the left appeared to be a tavern, if the mug of mead etched on the sign was anything to go by. Gyrus made note of the place to come back later and see if he’d be able to afford a room for the night. Otherwise, the rest of the buildings within view seemed to be homes. But before Gyrus could observe much more, two guards exited the small stone keep attached to the wall and approached the two of them. Gyrus had to fight his urge to shrink away from the approaching guards; a small part of him feared the guards were there to arrest him, since it was unlikely Tori or Hadvar could have gotten the chance to clear things up regarding his almost-execution yet. Out of the corner of his eye, Gyrus noticed Karevic tense up at the guards’ presence as well. There wasn’t much time to dwell on this observation, though, when the guards stopped in front of them.

“We’re here to escort you to Dragonsreach to deliver your message to the Jarl,” a gruff voice sounded from underneath one of the guard’s helmets. It was slightly unsettling to Gyrus that he was not able to see any facial cues, hidden as they were by the helmets. At least the guards weren’t there to arrest him, so he tried to swallow his nerves down and simply nodded in response. 

“Follow me, the both of you, and keep up. Don’t have all day,” the guard snapped, turning and setting off into the city at a brisk pace. It took Gyrus a moment to register, and he awkwardly set off after the guard. A quick glance back revealed that Karevic was following him, slightly peeved, no doubt because the second guard was trailing them both, thereby forcing Karevic to stick with Gyrus. Karevic couldn’t take care of his own business immediately, unless he wanted to risk getting them both thrown out.

Gyrus struggled a little to keep with the fast pace the first guard was setting; traveling all day on top of the ordeals the previous day had left him tired. He wasn’t able to take in as much of the city as he would have liked, either, shops and taverns and houses and city squares moving past far too quickly. But he did notice that the guard was leading them higher up the hill the city was built on, into more lavish districts with larger buildings, until they made it to a large, open square, decorated with a strangely dead tree at the center and surrounded by small channels of water flowing from higher up. Someone was yelling something in one corner of the square by a statue. But it was the clear view of the top of the hill and what could only have been Dragonsreach that stopped Gyrus for a split second in awe before he hastily followed the guard once more.

Gyrus forced himself to concentrate on climbing the multiple sets of white stone stairs to the top of the hill without losing his breath or his balance, instead of sneaking glances upward at Dragonsreach. His tired legs were burning by the time he made it to the top, and he gave himself a few moments to catch his breath. No need to follow the guard anymore, because Dragonsreach was right in front of him. 

It was, by far, the biggest building he’d ever seen. A bridge decorated with dragon-motif metal ribbing spanned a clear pool of springwater to heavy wooden doors almost two men in height. The visitors hall at the front was, alone, over three stories tall. Behind it loomed two more wings, looking about five stories and over eight stories tall. It was built in the style of an old stave castle, so it wasn’t likely all of those stories had floors to match them. Even so, Gyrus could barely believe how massive the keep was, still standing strong after so many millennia. He could almost buy the stories he’d heard, about one of the old High Kings capturing and imprisoning a dragon in this place so long ago.

“Ey!” the testy guard snapped, having stopped in front of the doors. “Do you have business with the Jarl, or don’t you? Make it quick, before these two decide you ought not to be let in!”

“Right!” Gyrus yelped as he noticed the two guards stationed on both sides of the doors, and he hurried across the bridge after Karevic and their other escort, who had passed him.

Their leading escort quietly harrumphed as one of the guards at the entrance pushed open one of the massive doors and ushered Gyrus and Karevic inside. The door creaked shut as soon as they both made it inside, leaving all four of the guards outside.

As Gyrus had predicted, the ceiling of the hall swooped far above him, supported by crisscrossing wooden rafters and towering stave columns, crafted from the trunks of grand hardwood trees, the kind that only existed deep in the dangerous parts of the forests anymore. The entryway alone was the size of an average house, and he could see steps leading up to a fire pit, flanked by two currently empty dining tables. Gyrus imagined that the keep would normally be bustling with people, ordinary folks who wanted to speak with the Jarl, but the keep seemed almost empty now, with only a handful of important-looking people clustered around a throne.

“Gods, I never expected to set foot in here. Hard to believe this was built by men,” Karevic murmured softly as he shifted uneasily. “But, hey, I’m not supposed to be here…”

“Can’t exactly go back out right now, can you?” Gyrus muttered, as much a reply to Karevic as a reminder to himself that he couldn’t flee as he stepped forward. “Just pretend to be my bodyguard or manservant or something; I’ll cover for you.”

“Manservant, any normal mercenary would have been forced to stay outside. Guards must have been idiots,” Karevic grumbled.

Gyrus gulped, sweat beading on his brow as they climbed the steps and neared the firepit. At least, if they were outside, it would have been nice and cool while Gyrus delivered the message and tried to get both himself and Karevic out in one piece.

Which, possibly, would be more difficult than it sounded, given that they seemed to have walked in on an argument, judging by the voices echoing through the hall.

“...only counsel caution. We cannot afford to act rashly in times like these!” a masculine voice cautioned.

“What would you have me do, then? Nothing?”

“My lord, please. This is no time for rash action. I just think we need more action before we act. I just…”

The sharp-eyed, golden-haired man sitting at the wooden throne looked up sharply as Gyrus and Karevic approached the raised dais at the other end of the hall. “Who’s this, then?”

Gyrus stepped back and tried not to whimper as a dark elf detached from the small ring of people around who was undoubtedly Jarl Balgruuf and stalked towards them, her sword drawn.

“What’s the meaning of this interruption?” she snapped, blocking their way forward. “Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving any visitors.”

Gyrus forced the words out of his suddenly dry mouth as he pulled the wooden token from his bag and presented it for her to see. “Alvor sent me. Riverwood is in danger.”

The Dunmer frowned fiercely as she stepped forward to take the token. “As Housecarl, my job is to deal with all dangers to the Jarl or his people. So, you have my attention. Now, explain yourself.”

Gyrus cast a fleeting look at Balgruuf. The Jarl was watching them intently, but not angrily. Gyrus swallowed as he remembered Alvor’s words about the Jarl, as well as his instructions about the message. Damn it, but this was important enough that the Jarl needed to hear it directly, not just from his housecarl, even if Balgruuf was right there listening. Bravely, he met the gaze of the housecarl and said, his voice a little stronger, “I was told to give the message directly to the Jarl.”

The dark elf’s eyes narrowed as her posture shifted ever so slightly. “Whatever you have to say to the Jarl, you can say to me. I’m starting to think—”

“It’s alright, Irileth,” Balgruuf interjected. “I want to hear what he has to say.”

Wordlessly, Irileth stepped away and sheathed her sword, allowing Gyrus and Karevic to step forward. Irileth hovered close to the Jarl’s side as Gyrus approached the throne, no more than five feet away from the Jarl, and respectfully knelt, as his mother had taught him to do so if he ever needed to speak with anyone of great importance. Karevic, following his example, knelt at his shoulder and a step behind, the correct place for a manservant.

“My thanks, my lord. I am Gyrus Axelei, the emergency courier from Riverwood, and my manservant, Kodya Karevic,” Gyrus said, announcing himself as he’d been taught and as he’d rehearsed to himself earlier.

“Rise,” the Jarl said. Gyrus and Karevic had barely stood when Balgruuf wasted no time in asking, “What’s this about Riverwood being in danger?”

“A dragon destroyed Helgen. I was there,” Gyrus said, eliciting a low, surprised murmur from the Jarl’s advisors. It was hard to admit it out loud, particularly so bluntly, with the memories still so fresh. “I was lucky to escape alive. Alvor is afraid Riverwood is next.” Gyrus could practically feel the incredulous look Karevic was shooting at his back.

Balgruuf stroked his beard, considering. “Alvor? The smith, isn’t he?” Gyrus nodded. “Not prone to flights of fancy…” Gyrus held his breath as Balgruuf pondered the information, grateful that the Jarl hadn’t dismissed him outright. Balgruuf was the _ only _one Gyrus needed to convince, not the lurking advisors who seemed disbelieving but, thankfully, stayed quiet as was proper when an emissary delivered a message, no matter how outlandish. 

“So, you were at Helgen?” Balgruuf finally asked. “You saw this dragon with your own eyes?”

“Yes,” Gyrus said, a chill running down his spine from the memory. “Black as night, with scales like spikes. Its eyes…” Gyrus shivered, remembering the glowing red eyes that had seemed to fix on him for a moment. “It wanted death. It… somehow called down a short rain of fiery stone that wrecked the town, and it breathed fire. There was an entire platoon of Imperial soldiers there for the execution of Ulfric Stormcloak, including General Tullius, on top of the normal guard, but they were helpless to stop it… I don’t know how many people survived, or how much of the town remains. I escaped underground,” Gyrus said, clenching his shaking fists. “The dragon destroyed Helgen. And last I saw, it was heading this way as it was leaving the town. There are other witnesses, too – I escaped with two Imperial soldiers, and at least one person in Riverwood has seen it, and more have heard it.”

Gyrus startled when Balgruuf slammed a fist on the arm of his chair, afraid for a split second he’d somehow offended the Jarl, but Balgruuf just boomed, “By Ysmir, Irileth was right! What do you say now, Proventus? Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a dragon?”

The dark elf nodded graciously as she said, “My lord, we should send troops to Riverwood at once. It’s in the most immediate danger. If that dragon is lurking in the mountains…”

One of the Jarl’s advisors, possibly Proventus, interjected worriedly, “The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation! He’ll assume we’re preparing to join Ulfric’s side and attack him! We should not—” 

“Enough!” Balgruuf barked. “I’ll not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people! Irileth, send a full detachment to Riverwood at once, and squadrons to the surrounding villages.”

“Yes, my Jarl,” Irileth said, bowing swiftly before leaving in a rush to deploy the soldiers. Gyrus’s shoulders slumped in relief at the Jarl’s pronouncement. Riverwood would not be without some protection, though he didn’t know how much good it would do against that dragon. Maybe the soldiers would be enough to buy the citizens time to escape. It would at least keep people from completely panicking if they thought they had some protection.

After a few moments, one of the advisors said stiffly, “If you’ll excuse us, we should return to our duties, now that this matter has been settled.”

“That would be best,” Balgruuf replied, dismissing them with a wave of his hand.

As the handful of advisors filtered away, Gyrus realized with a jolt that he and Karevic were being left alone with the Jarl, which implied some degree of trust. Gyrus wished the Jarl had dismissed them too, but it seemed Balgruuf wasn’t done with them yet.

Balgruuf stood from his throne, a gesture of respect that had Gyrus blinking, as he said, “Well done, Gyrus Axelei. You sought me out, on your own initiative, it sounds like, to protect the people of my hold. You’ve done Whiterun a great service, and I won’t forget it.” Balgruuf reached for his belt, unhooked a small, jingling bag, and held it out for Gyrus to take. After a moment of hesitation, Gyrus did so, internally quailing at the heavy feel of coins within the pouch. “It’s a small token of my esteem and gratitude.”

“I… thank you, my lord,” Gyrus stuttered, clutching the leather bag. He was inept at receiving gifts, but it was rude to refuse a gift from a Jarl, so he reluctantly tucked the bag into his pack to figure out what to do with later. “Your generosity is most kind. Is there anything else you need from us, my lord, or…?” Gyrus said hopefully. At this point, with his message delivered and swift action regarding it taken, he just wanted to find the nearest tavern for dinner and rest.

But he internally groaned as Balgruuf eyed him and replied, “There is another thing you could do for me. Suitable for someone of your particular talents, perhaps.”

“My particular talents, my lord?” Gyrus repeated.

“You did survive Helgen intact, did you not? Your manservant appears rather capable, too. Faithful, as well, to follow his master so diligently, despite what happened at Helgen.”

Gyrus glanced back at Karevic, who looked both stunned and uncomfortable, and awkwardly laughed. “Yes, he is… very dependable.”

“Indeed!” Balgruuf said, clapping Gyrus on the shoulder and subtly steering him towards the antechambers along the east wall. “In that case, come, let’s go find Farengar, my court wizard. He’s been looking into a matter related to dragons and… rumors of dragons.”

Gyrus grimaced, trying to find a respectful way to bow out of whatever task the Jarl seemed to want to assign him. “My lord, with all due respect, I don’t know how much use I will be to you. My only desire for now is to return home.” Okay, that came out a bit more bluntly than Gyrus was expecting. He must have been more tired than he thought.

The hand on his shoulder tightened, ever so slightly. “Of course, of course. Any man would want to return home to his loved ones after an experience like what you went through. But, Gyrus,” Balgruuf stopped walking, turning to pierce Gyrus with his intense gaze, “I need your help. _ Whiterun _needs your help. There’s a dragon on the loose, and I will need every soldier I can get my hands on to defend my hold. I don’t want what happened at Helgen to happen here. Now, more than ever, I need trustworthy men who I can send to find out more about these creatures.”

Gyrus grimaced. It was obvious that the Jarl, unable to send his soldiers and unwilling to ask his townspeople to volunteer for what was undoubtedly a dangerous task, was trying to hire him as a mercenary of sorts. But damn it, the Jarl’s plea was working even so, because Gyrus couldn’t bear it if another town or city befell the same fate as Helgen. Especially if he could have done something to prevent it; he knew _ exactly _what would happen if the dragon attacked somewhere else.

“I… I’ve been away from home for too long. My family must be worried sick,” Gyrus tried feebly. Other than the dragon, they were his main concern.

Balgruuf nodded sympathetically. “Of course, of course. I understand the worry for one’s family during these times. If you’re completely set against it, I can’t force you. If you agree to do this for me, though… I can arrange a messenger falcon to take a message straight to them, free of charge, before you leave. And when you have completed the task, I can pay you an additional handsome sum, enough to support your family for some time. I am sorry to have to ask this of you. But the fact of the matter is, we need your help.”

Gyrus slumped. He couldn’t say no to that offer, especially not if the Jarl was good on his word and sent a message to his family. His mother was probably starting to worry about him by now. “I will help,” he murmured, before straightening and looking Balgruuf in the eye. “I _ want _to help. I’m just also worried about my family. What should I do to send my message?”

Balgruuf nodded approvingly. “We will want you to be on your way shortly. Before you leave Dragonsreach, I will have Farengar scribe your message for you. We will take care of it from there.”

“I can write it myself,” Gyrus said. “But thank you.” He wracked his brain for anything else regarding this task… “Oh!” Gyrus gasped. “K– my manservant!” Out of the corner of his eye, Gyrus could see Karevic almost vibrating with tension.

Balgruuf frowned. “What about him?”

“Ah– he– his contract is expiring within the next two days,” Gyrus scrambled. “If you’re sending me somewhere, I don’t want to drag him with me if he doesn’t want to go, or chain him to me longer than he is bound to.” Because manservants were essentially contracted slaves, bound to their masters’ sides, it could cause trouble for one or both of them if Karevic was seen wandering around Whiterun while Gyrus was supposed to be elsewhere – either because Karevic was assumed to be attempting to escape from his master, or because Karevic’s presence meant that Gyrus was somewhere nearby and hadn’t left on his task like he was supposed to, assuming the Jarl was sending him outside of the city. The manservant charade had been a dumb idea to begin with, but now, at least, Gyrus wouldn’t accidentally drag Karevic away from his own business or risk getting them both into trouble.

The Jarl raised a curious eyebrow. “Indeed?” he said. “An honorable admission. Manservant,” he said, turning to address Karevic, “Your freedom is being offered to you early. Will you accompany your master on this task?”

Gyrus watched as Karevic hesitated. At least the man was free to say no. Gyrus actually assumed he would; who would want to be pulled into dragons and danger unwillingly? Karevic’s eyes flickered to his, holding his gaze for a moment.

Then, to Gyrus’s surprise, Karevic replied, “Yes, I will go with him.”

“Wonderful!” Balgruuf said, clapping his hands together decisively. “Now then, this way.” The office turned out to not be far from the throne; they’d just spent more time talking than walking. Balgruuf ushered Karevic and Gyrus in as he said, “Farengar, I think I’ve found someone who can help you with your dragon project. Go ahead and fill them in with all the details. In addition, I’ll need you to provide them with parchment and ink for a message.”

“A message?” a man, who was bent over a mess of scattered scrolls strewn across an extensive worktable, replied. “I suppose you’ll want the message enchanted and delivered to the courier’s then before I send them off?”

Balgruuf nodded to Gyrus, who replied, “Yes, I would appreciate a privacy enchantment, keyed to my blood. I can pen the message myself.”

“Very well,” Farengar said, snatching a piece of parchment and a bottle of enchanted quick-dry ink from a drawer before handing them to Gyrus. He was a thin-faced man, clothed and hooded in the blue and silver robes of a mage, and held his head proudly.

Gyrus bent over a small table with enough clear space to write and started scrawling his message. He heard the murmurs of Balgruuf and Farengar as they conversed for a few moments before Balgruuf left, leaving just himself and Karevic with the mage. Gyrus chewed on his lip as he considered what to say after summarizing his time in Cyrodiil. He didn’t want to worry his family with the news of everything that had happened once he’d left the research site, with tales of being mugged and bandits, nevermind almost being executed and winding up in the middle of a dragon attack…

“Are you done yet? I don’t have all day to wait for you. I’m a very busy man, you know,” Farengar said irritably as Gyrus hesitated over his ending comments.

Sighing, Gyrus glossed over the danger he’d gotten into, only saying that some events had happened to delay him and he would be quite late getting home. He quickly signed the letter, waited a few moments for the drying enchantment to take hold, then rolled up the parchment and handed it to an impatient Farengar, who quickly mumbled some quiet incantations over the paper and then slid it into a pre-enchanted leather holder. 

“Hand,” he said boredly, jerking Gyrus’s hand when he held it out to press his thumb against a magic seal. Gyrus winced at the sudden pinprick, but when Farengar let him go, there was no prick on his thumb.

“Now then,” Farengar began after unceremoniously shoving the tube in a cubbyhole with some other messages, “The Jarl thinks you can be of use to me, for my research into the dragons. Yes, I could use someone to fetch something for me. Well, when I say fetch, I really mean, to delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or may not actually be there.”

Gyrus grimaced, because that was what he was afraid of. Dragons disappeared long ago; any fresh information on them would likely only be found by diving into treacherous ruins. Couldn’t hurt to ask about it, though. “What does this have to do with dragons?”

Farengar blinked, looking slightly taken aback. “Ah, no mere brute mercenary, but a thinker – perhaps even a scholar?”

Gyrus nodded. “Not much of one so far, but my speciality is the Dwemer.”

Farengar grinned. “A fascinating field, to be sure! The Dwemer could do things with magic we can barely comprehend, even after thousands of years since their disappearance. But unfortunately, given that the Dwemer lived largely underground and only really entered Skyrim after the Dragon Wars, their interactions with dragons were much fewer. The artifact I am looking for is within an ancient Nordic ruin, and I hope it can tell us something about the dragons’ sudden reappearance. You see, the stories of dragons began to circulate within hours of Helgen’s destruction, and many dismissed them as mere fantasies, rumors. Impossibilities. But one sure mark of a fool is to dismiss anything that falls outside his experience as being impossible. So I began to search for information about dragons – where had they gone all those years ago? And where were they coming from?”

Gyrus heard an almost imperceptible, tired sigh from Karevic before he broke his acting – manservants weren’t supposed to speak out of turn unless spoken to – and said, “Just tell us what you need us to do.”

“You are eager to begin your assignment,” Farengar said, pleased. “Excellent. The sooner begun, the sooner done, eh? I, ah, learned of a certain stone tablet said to be housed within Bleak Falls Barrow – something called a ‘Dragonstone,’ said to hold a map of dragon burial sites. So, all you need to do is go to Bleak Falls Barrow, find this tablet – no doubt in the main chamber, given its importance – and bring it back to me. Simplicity itself.”

_ Simple, but not easy_, Gyrus thought uneasily as he mentally reviewed what he knew about the dangers in Nordic ruins.

Karevic took a more direct approach. “What can you tell us about Bleak Falls Barrow?”

Farengar replied, “It’s an old tomb, built by the ancient Nords, perhaps dating back to the Dragon War itself. But maybe you just want to know how to get there? It’s near Riverwood, a miserable little village south of here. I’m sure some of the locals can point you in the right direction once you get there.”

“I know how to get to Riverwood,” Gyrus said quietly, holding his tongue regarding the insult to the kind people who had helped him. It wasn’t worth it to get into the argument, and he was too tired, anyway.

Karevic nodded in acknowledgement before continuing, “You mentioned it was dangerous. What kinds of dangers would we be facing?”

Farengar rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. “Well, I can’t say for sure. Every ruin is different. But you’ll probably at least run into some draugrs and traps, and maybe even some structural instability, given its age. Best be prepared for anything.”

Venturing into the ruin was sounding more and more perilous by the minute. “How do you know this stone tablet is in Bleak Falls Barrow?” Gyrus blurted out. Because if he went in there for nothing… 

“Well. Must preserve some professional secrets, mustn’t we?” Farengar said, shifting. “I do have my sources… reliable sources. You’ll find it there, I’m sure.”

Gyrus frowned, because that _ wasn’t _reassuring, but he sighed and let it go. They had no way of confirming whether or not the artifact was actually there, but they had to go to the ruins regardless, since it was their best lead for the tablet. 

“Now then, is there anything else?” Farengar asked dismissively. “You should be off as soon as you’re ready. The Jarl is not a patient man. Neither am I, come to think of it.”

Gyrus shook his head, drooping from exhaustion. He saw Karevic do the same from the corner of his eye. “No. Not right now. When we come back though, could I ask some questions about magic and maybe dragons?” _ When_, not _ if_, because Gyrus refused to die before he could go home.

Farengar hummed thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose we might be able to have a nice, long chat once you’ve returned. You might just be more interesting than some of the other brutes Balgruuf has sent to me. Now, off you go.”

Gyrus winced but bowed shortly and respectfully. Since both the Jarl and Farengar were finally done with them, Gyrus left with Karevic at his heel, clinging to the tattered manservant disguise.

* * *

They exited Dragonsreach to find that they’d been meeting with the Jarl and Farengar for so long, the sun had already set by the time they’d made it out. Descending the steps to the courtyard with the dead tree, Gyrus all but collapsed onto one of the benches under the tree, groaning from sheer exhaustion. 

He jumped when Karevic let out an explosive sigh. “Guess we’re stuck together for a bit longer, kid, even if it’s not ideal. I’m not doing this out of the goodness of my heart, either. The reward the Jarl mentioned? I’m going to want—”

“You can have most of it,” Gyrus cut him off. “I just need enough to replace what I lost last week, and a little extra for my family.”

Karevic, still standing, looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “Why in Oblivion would you be willing to venture into one of those ruins without a substantial reward? You fool, do you realize how _ dangerous _those places are?”

Gyrus shrugged tiredly. “Can’t be as bad as Helgen.”

Karevic made an aggravated noise. “You’re going to get us _ both _ killed if you keep thinking like that. Danger is danger, whether it be from a skeever or a dragon! And _ gods_, speaking of,” Karevic scrubbed his face in exasperation. “That message you were delivering; I thought it was just a regular message, not that _ dragons _ are back! That’s something you _ tell people_, kid!”

Gyrus looked at him grumpily, not enjoying being chewed out. “But you said not to tell strangers about it.”

“That was before I knew it was that _ mythical beasts are leveling keeps!_” Karevic hissed.

“Would you have even believed me if I told you?” Gyrus retorted.

Karevic glowered at him in irritation. “That would have been for me to decide had I been told about it!”

“Well, you’re informed now,” Gyrus sniped testily, the fatigue from the day’s events dragging on his patience and mood. 

Karevic scoffed. “Only because I got stuck attending your meeting with the Jarl after foolishly accompanying you to Whiterun!”

“You’d be stuck outside the city if I hadn’t intervened!” Gyrus snapped. 

“Better to be stuck outside the city than—” Karevic started before closing his mouth with a snap. He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled heavily, as if struggling to control his temper. “_Gods_, this is a nightmare,” Karevic grumbled to himself. “We don’t have time for this. We can argue later, but right now, it would be smart to start taking care of any necessary preparations before leaving. For starters, you need something more than a tunic for protection, kid.”

“Fine,” Gyrus agreed, a bit petulantly. He’d never admit it, but he was glad to be done arguing; he was exhausted to the point that he would honestly sleep on the bench he was seated on, if he knew he wouldn’t be disrupted.

Without any further delay, Karevic uttered a quick, “Come on,” and strode out of the square. Gyrus wearily rose to his feet and trudged to follow. It was obvious that Karevic knew his way around Whiterun as he purposefully led Gyrus down the worn cobblestone path, seeming to have a specific destination in mind. Not much later, Gyrus noticed that they were approaching the blacksmith that he had managed to spot earlier near the gates before they’d been hurriedly escorted away by the guards. Amazingly, it still seemed to be open, even though it was well after dark. As they got closer, Gyrus could hear the familiar sound of a hammer pounding metal on a workbench. The source was a dark-haired, Imperial woman with skin a deep tan, undoubtedly from hours spent outside over the forge. She was talking to a well-built Nord as she worked, but paused in both as she noticed Gyrus and Karevic approaching.

“I thought I saw you earlier,” she commented, looking at Karevic. “I was wondering why you didn’t stop by. Thought maybe you found another buyer.”

Karevic snorted and rolled his eyes. “No. Unfortunately, I still have to settle for your prices. Besides, that’s not the only thing I’m here for; he needs some armor,” Karevic said, jerking his thumb in Gyrus’s direction.

“Oh?” She quirked an eyebrow and looked Gyrus up and down. “A full set or individual pieces?” 

“Full set. We should have the money for it,” Karevic replied. Gyrus winced, knowing how expensive full sets of armor could get. At least they had the reward from Balgruuf.

“I think I might have something in the works that I can fit for him,” she mused aloud. “Head inside and Ulfberth will see what you’ve got. I’ll take care of your friend here; I’ll even fit him. What kind of armor are you looking for?”

“Something light and study. For someone with… not much experience,” Karevic said, a bit awkwardly with a quick glance to Gyrus. The Nord, who Gyrus presumed was Ulfberth and whom the smith had been conversing with prior, stood from where he was leaning against the shop. With a gruff “Alright,” he walked into the shop with Karevic close behind. Gyrus shifted anxiously on his feet as he was left alone with the unfamiliar smith. 

“Come on, you’re wasting torchlight standing there,” she said, beckoning Gyrus towards her forge.

“Er, right,” Gyrus fumbled and hurried over. Walking into the open-air forge, Gyrus could see an abundance of smithing materials, as well as several weapons and armor pieces, all in the process of being finished. As he was distracted by critically admiring the smith’s wares – he could tell she was obviously talented – he was startled when a large bundle of leather was dropped on a workspace behind him. 

“This set isn’t completely finished yet, but that will make it easier to fit it,” she said, straightening out the bundle of leather to reveal, what Gyrus could now recognize, a cuirass along with arm bracers and boots, all made of hardened leather with metal rivets. “Here, try this on,” she said as she handed Gyrus the half-finished cuirass.

“Y-yeah, sure,” Gyrus accepted the armor and easily slid it over his head. After doing the buckles that were finished on it, the armor mostly fit around his waist, but was still around a size too big around the shoulders. Not nearly as bad as the Imperial armor in Helgen, but still not ideal for protection. Thankfully, fitting it to him would likely only take some minor adjustments.

The smith hummed in thought as she inspected the way the armor hugged his frame. Gyrus fought the urge to squirm under her calculating gaze. “Thank you for doing this, um…” Gyrus trailed off, not knowing the woman’s name. He wanted to be polite; fitting armor took more time and expense than just buying a standard size, and it was more likely to save your life compared to ill-fitting armor.

“Adrianne Avenicci,” she offered as she made a few marks on the leather with a stick of charcoal. “No need to thank me; it’s my job, after all. Now raise your arms up and out; let me see how you’re moving.”

“You’re the smith here, I take it?” Gyrus asked as she continued to examine the fit of the armor while he tested his range of movement.

She made an affirming noise. “Yes, I own Warmaiden’s and build all my stock. My husband, Ulfberth, helps with the sales inside,” she said as she handed Gyrus the half-finished arm bracers to try on for fitting as well.

“Oh! So that’s why Karevic went inside,” Gyrus noted as he slipped on the bracers. However, he struggled to latch the buckles with one hand and was grateful when Adrianne helped him once she noticed his plight. “What is it you buy from him, anyway?” Gyrus inquired, curious to learn more about his companion.

“Furs, mostly,” she answered as she adjusted the loose right bracer and made marks on it. “Great quality, which makes for quality leathers and armor.”

Gyrus looked down at the tough leather armor he was wearing now and wondered if any of Karevic’s furs had gone into the making of it.

“You know,” Adrianne said, “I’m a little surprised he’s helping you out. He’s always been something of a loner. Just comes into town to sell his wares and leaves again to hunt. But you don’t strike me as another hunter.”

Gyrus didn’t mind indulging the woman’s curiosity; it didn’t seem dangerous. “We, uh, ran into each other on the road,” he replied. “We were traveling together and I got him through the gates. And now we’re a bit stuck together for a, um, errand.” Gyrus laughed awkwardly. “I don’t think he likes me very much.”

“Well, I can’t say I know him well, but he’s at least honest. However you got enough money to pay for a full set of armor on short notice, it must have been _ your _ doing alone, since he’s not clamoring to have a new set of armor himself. And he could use the upgrade; that hide armor he’s wearing isn’t going to protect him from much,” Adrianne observed as she pulled Gyrus’s boots off so he could try on the armored boots. “Say, you mentioned you made it through the gate, right? Any news about it? There was a lot of activity over there earlier, but the city is still closed. The Jarl shut the gates as soon as the runners came with news of Helgen being destroyed. Hope he doesn’t keep them closed for too long; the merchants will be very unhappy otherwise…”

“Guess it hasn’t gotten around _ that _fast,” Gyrus mumbled. For a moment, he considered if he should keep his mouth shut, but between delivering his message to the Jarl already and Karevic’s reprimand, he decided to explain what was happening to her. “I was at Helgen. It was destroyed by a dragon. It was awful. I barely got out alive. I told this to the Jarl, who acted on it. He’s sending us off to go get something from an old ruin that might help against the dragon, which is why I need armor. I don’t know if he’s going to reopen the city gates,” Gyrus said tiredly, wiggling his toes and walking around to get a feel for the boots. Thankfully, they seemed to fit him well.

Adrianne, however, wasn’t paying any attention to the fit of his boots. “You want to run that by me again?” she said slowly. “I could have sworn you just said that a _ dragon _ destroyed Helgen.”

Gyrus nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I said.”

The blacksmith released an explosive sigh and covered her eyes with a hand. “Divines help us all,” she muttered. “Explains the massive order for fasteners and bolts that the Jarl commissioned just before you got here.”

“War machines, probably,” Gyrus mused. “I guess he really is taking it seriously.”

Adrianne chewed her lip as she helped him remove the armor, having finished marking. “Look, I don’t know if you’re telling the truth about this dragon thing or not. But something tells me you’re going to need this armor fast. I hadn’t gotten to making the helmet for it yet, unfortunately. But I don’t think I could make it in time before you have to go. When are you two leaving?”

“As soon as possible, probably,” Gyrus admitted. “Not tonight, it’s too late, but we’ll probably leave tomorrow morning if we can get all our supplies together.”

The blacksmith nodded. “I can have these pieces done by tomorrow morning as a rush job. Gonna have to roust out my apprentices to start on the Jarl’s order…” she mumbled. “I’ll want payment upfront. Taking into account the missing helmet, fitting, rush job, and supplier’s discount… Let’s say around fifty silvers even. Fair?”

“Definitely,” Gyrus agreed. Based on what he knew from his father’s shop at home, it was pricey, especially for an incomplete set. But adding in the cost of the extra labor for properly fitting the armor to him, as well as the rush order, it was more than fair. He retrieved and opened the money pouch the Jarl had given him and gaped, for a moment, at the amount of money inside. Without hesitating for too long, he withdrew five gold pieces, the equivalent of fifty silvers, and held them out to Adrianne. She made a surprised noise as she accepted the coins, then tested their authenticity by biting one. When she held it up, Gyrus could see a small mark from where her tooth had dug into the soft gold.

Adrianne grinned as she stored the coins in a pouch at her waist. “Real gold, not bad.” She took the cuirass to her worktable and said, “I’ll get started right away. I assume you’re going to go inside to get Karevic?” When Gyrus nodded, she continued, “Could you do me a favor and tell Ulfberth to grab my apprentices?”

Gyrus nodded and replied, “No problem.” He turned to enter the shop. Hopefully, Karevic would be almost done selling his furs… but to his dismay, from the slightly raised voices and incremental bargaining, he thought he might be stuck there for a while.

It was almost two hours of irritated haggling later that the hunter finally had a price for his furs he was comfortable with. Gyrus groaned as he mindlessly shuffled after Karevic, almost asleep on his feet. He’d only had enough energy afterwards to miserably ask that Karevic take them to an inn. Gyrus wasn’t quite sure if Karevic had agreed or not, but was far too tired to do anything but follow him. 

Karevic led them inside some building called “The Bannered Mare,” according to the sign Gyrus hazily caught sight of on his way in. There was a warm hearth inside, as well as a bar. Gyrus almost wept when he spotted rooms that looked like they belonged in an inn.

Karevic’s short conversation with the innkeep was lost on Gyrus, though he did notice when the huntsman flipped one silver towards the keep, and the keep handed a key back. Gyrus was all too content to let Karevic lead the way back to their room. Gyrus managed a few more steps, just to the closer of the two thin straw beds, and collapsed on it. He fell asleep within moments, without even removing his boots or his bag.

* * *

_He was somewhere cold, dark, and damp, pressed against a stone wall. Gurgling sounds from rotted vocal cords drew closer and closer. He thought there was no way the draugr wouldn’t miss him, but then the space was light and heat and fire as a dragon screamed from somewhere above him. He huddled deeper into the little space, trying to avoid being cooked alive. The inferno vanished, but enough small fires remained behind that he could see. There were charred bodies all around him, dressed in scorched Imperial and Stormcloak armor. One of them held an executioner’s axe_.

* * *

It felt like only moments had passed when he felt Karevic shaking him awake. Gyrus groaned and rolled over, mumbling almost incoherently about sleeping more. If he’d dreamed anything, he couldn’t remember. 

“Get up, it’s morning,” Karevic said gruffly. 

“Already…?” Gyrus groaned. 

“You passed out and slept the whole night through. How are you still tired?” Karevic wondered. Gyrus could hear the other man moving around the room, moving things around.

“Because two days ago I got caught in a dragon attack, and I spent almost all day yesterday walking,” Gyrus moaned, cracking his eyes open to early light filtering in through windows he hadn’t noticed the night before.

Karevic sighed. “Guess that’s fair enough. We’ve got to get moving soon though, if we’re going to make it to the ruins before sundown. It’s safer, and the faster we get moving, the faster we can be done with this.”

Gyrus grunted and stiffly pushed himself to sit up. His body still hadn’t completely recovered from Helgen. “Right,” he said, yawning. “Let’s just make sure we’re not going _ too _ fast. Don’ wanna make dumb mistakes and get killed…”

Karevic stood still for a moment before replying, “Yeah,” in a peculiar tone of voice. Then he continued, “C’mon, get your boots on, grab your stuff, and let’s go.”

Gyrus looked down at the boots placed at the foot of his bed in confusion. He couldn’t remember taking them off last night, or his bag, but he knew he’d been so terribly tired, he wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d taken them off and forgotten. Slipping on his boots and bag didn’t take long at all, and he spent a couple minutes more relieving himself in the inconspicuous chamber pot in the corner. Once Karevic saw that he was ready, the hunter handed him a thick piece of jerky to eat. Feeling marginally more awake, Gyrus trudged after Karevic as they left the room. The huntsman tossed their room key to the keeper before they left the inn.

Gyrus sucked in a breath and blinked as the cool morning air hit him. “So what now?” he rasped, blinking rapidly as his eyes adjusted to being outside.

“I made a short list last night of supplies that will be useful, if not critical, for exploring Bleak Falls Barrow and emerging with our lives intact,” Karevic said, withdrawing a small scrap of parchment and handing it to Gyrus. “Figured it would be faster if we split up to get supplies.”

Gyrus raised an eyebrow, impressed and intrigued. Not just every backwoods huntsman was literate. It took him a few moments of squinting at the parchment, because Karevic’s scrawl wasn’t terribly legible, but he was able to make out a short list of items that would be of use in the ruin.

“Any other ideas of what we might need?” Karevic asked.

Gyrus frowned. “I might be able to pick out some good magic items.”

“Hmm,” Karevic said, considering. “I haven’t had reason to frequent the magic shops in town, so you’ll have to go looking for ones that sell what you’re thinking of. What are you thinking of buying?”

“Protective spells,” Gyrus replied. “There’s a lot of dangerous things we could run into in those ruins… but of them, the only one we’re almost certain to run into is draugr. Having some specific protection against the undead would likely be a good idea.”

Karevic grimaced. “You’re probably right. Guess that means you’ll be looking for a magic shop, while I’ll grab the more mundane things at the general store and apothecary. We’ll meet at Adrianne’s after we’re done, within an hour. _ Don’t _dawdle. Alright?”

“Yeah,” Gyrus nodded. “See you later.”

Karevic grunted before heading off. Gyrus sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair, frowning. Finding quality, decently-priced magic items in this city? He just hoped he wouldn’t get lost. He looked around and found that the inn Karevic had taken him to, thankfully, seemed to be in the middle of what looked like a shopping district. Now, all he had to do was look for a magic shop…

Which seemed to be easier said than done, Gyrus realized with a grimace. None of the storefronts he was passing seemed to deal specifically with magic. Clothiers, smiths of all specialties, jewelers, markets, trading posts, and more… Gyrus thought about entering one of the trading posts, because they dealt in all kinds of items, but then decided against it. There was no guarantee a specific trader’s post would have what he was looking for, and looking in each of them would just waste time. Karevic did not seem like a patient man. Not to mention, the quality of magic items in trader’s posts could be… dubious.

No. Even if he was lucky enough to find something useful, the quality would be questionable. Gyrus refused to bet his life on a gamble that the magic worked properly. A specialty store would likely be pricier, but the extra money was worth the quality guarantee, especially when his life would be on the line. 

Finally, he found a shop that looked promising, The Faerie’s Fortunes. It was small and tucked away in a corner; Gyrus almost missed spotting it, except that he noticed someone carrying a mage’s staff exit it. Hopeful, he entered the shop, and he was not disappointed.

It was obviously a magic shop. Books and scrolls were tucked neatly into bookcases. An enchanter’s table and an alchemist’s lab were set up side-by-side. Behind a glass case, there were some rare alchemy ingredients, soul gems, and enchanted accessories, likely the more expensive ones. Scattered throughout the store were all kinds of enchanted items and clothes. 

As much as Gyrus would have liked to browse – real magic, beyond what his mother could teach him! – he had a schedule to keep. He looked longingly at the spellbooks before turning away. They would be too heavy and bulky to safely carry with him in the ruins. Maybe, if he survived, he could come back to this place.

“Someone interesting has just wandered into my shop,” someone said from behind him. Gyrus jumped and whirled around to see a dark-haired, middle-aged woman dressed in a beaded shawl staring up at him. “Very interesting indeed. Young man, destiny converges upon you. Some critical change draws near. I think you will prove to be very important for the fate of Skyrim, very important indeed.”

“Uh…” Gyrus said uneasily. It sounded like nonsense, though it was possible the woman had some kind of clairvoyant power. But she had to be talking about someone else; Gyrus was just a novice scholar from a small mining town. “Ma’am, I’m not sure…”

“Hmm… perhaps. Perhaps not,” the woman said, bewilderingly. “Now then, young man, I assume you would like to purchase something from my shop?”

“Ah…” Gyrus said, swallowing to wet his suddenly dry throat. “Yes. Do you have anything that protects against the undead? Or protection in general?”

“Hmm… I do have something that I think will suit. Several somethings, in fact. If you would wait at the counter, I can gather items of interest.”

“Y-yeah,” Gyrus stuttered, thrown off-balance by her sudden switch from enigmatic to practical. He moved over to the counter, shivering slightly. He could understand why magic-users were viewed with distrust by non-magic users. _ Gyrus _could use magic himself, and he still found some of the things they were capable of creepy. Vague clairvoyance, uncanny insight, and necromancy, to name a few…

Gyrus forced his breathing to steady as he watched the woman bustle around her shop. She pulled a handful of scrolls from the bookshelves, a couple of amulets from behind the glass case, and then a dagger from a display on the wall. She laid them all out on the counter for Gyrus to see.

“One spell scroll of guardian circle, three scrolls of bane of the undead, two amulets to repel undead, and one blessed dagger,” the woman declared. “All guaranteed to protect you from the undead in some capacity. Altogether… 3,000 silver.”

Gyrus made a choked noise. He knew that quality magic items would be expensive, but this was…!

“If you are wondering about the price,” the woman said quietly, “Each of these items was crafted by a master of restoration magic. They are high-level spells and enchanted items guaranteed to save you from death, particularly the scrolls. They can destroy or force all but the most powerful of the undead to flee. And even the most powerful undead cannot touch you within the protective circles. In addition, in an emergency, the spell scroll of guardian circle will heal you from the brink of death.”

“I, I’d love to buy them all,” Gyrus said, stammering, “But I honestly don’t have that kind of money. I could purchase a fraction of what you’re offering.”

The woman hums. “Normally, I would say you’re out of luck. But you’re not just a foolhardy adventurer craving a thrill, are you? You have some important purpose, don’t you?”

Gyrus, caught off guard by the woman’s insight, took a moment to respond. “Oh, y-yes, I would think so? I need to go to a ruin and retrieve something that might help regarding the return of the dragons.”

The woman blinked, astonished. “The return of the dragons?” she exclaimed, gripping the counter hard enough to turn her knuckles white. “Are you serious?”

Gyrus felt completely off-balance. “Y-yes, I was at Helgen when it was destroyed by one,” he replied. “I’m sorry, I thought you knew…?”

The woman groaned and rubbed her temples. “My clairvoyance doesn’t always show me what I want, or what’s important. And sometimes I can’t control what comes out of my mouth from it.” She sighed. “Thank you for telling me about the dragons. I can see you are telling the truth.” She pursed her lips before sweeping the three scrolls of bane of the undead and the dagger off the counter. “I am running a business, not a charity. But I _ can _see that you will need this one scroll, and these two amulets, to best increase your odds of success. Normally, I would not care about the success of my customers, unless they paid me to read their chances. But I sense the terrible importance of your mission. I cannot give these to you for free. But how much money do you have?”

“Oh…!” Gyrus breathed, hopeful. He withdrew his money pouch and shook the contents onto the counter: five gold pieces, sixteen silver, and five bronze.

The woman considered the money Gyrus laid out before him. “This is not as bad as I was expecting,” she admitted. She swept her hand out and gathered the five gold and ten of the silver towards her. Then, she withdrew a protective leather tube, pushed the spell scroll into it, and gathered up the amulets. She held them out to Gyrus.

“Thank you,” Gyrus said fervently, taking the scroll and amulets and putting them in his bag. He knew little about magic items, but ones of this kind of quality? There was no way the woman hadn’t just taken a loss, selling them to him. “When I come back, if there’s anything I can do…”

“Just focus on coming back alive,” the woman said. “In the future… we will see. Oh, but before you go, I assume you’ll need a little instruction on how those work?”

* * *

“About time you got here,” Karevic grumbled once Gyrus finally found his way back to the blacksmith’s shop. 

“Sorry, I had some trouble finding the magic shop. I spent most of my money, but the high-quality items I got should make up for it.”

“Sounds like you had more luck than I did,” Karevic sighed. “The general store wasn’t too bad, but the apothecary was a nightmare. Can’t beat the quality, but her prices sure went sky-high because of the shutdown. Wasn’t able to get much because of it, and I’m almost out of money, too. Ugh…”

“I still have money left, and I prepaid for the armor. Is there anything else we need to get?”

“I need to restock on arrows,” Karevic admitted. 

“Here,” Gyrus said, handing the huntsman three of his remaining six silvers. “Think that’ll be enough?”

“Plenty,” Karevic said, hesitantly accepting the money. “You don’t need to—”

“We’re partners,” Gyrus affirmed. “I don’t mind sharing. Besides, you need to be well-equipped, don’t you?”

Karevic clenched his jaw, and he sounded strained, even slightly upset, as he answered, “Yeah. I’ll get some arrows. You go pick up your armor.”

Gyrus watched, puzzled, as Karevic left without another word and entered the shop. _ Was it something I said…? _he wondered.

“Thought I recognized that green head of hair,” Adrianne said from behind him. Gyrus spun around to see the blacksmith leaning against her shop wearily, circles under her eyes. 

Concerned, Gyrus asked, “Did you get any sleep last night?”

Adrianne chuckled humorlessly. “No. Finished up with your armor and then tackled the Jarl’s order alongside my apprentices. We’re still not done,” she sighed. “Don’t worry, though, I checked your armor to make sure I hadn’t made any mistakes. Come take a look.”

Gyrus followed her to her forge, where she set out the armor for him to see. Gyrus could see slight tweaks in the shape, made to accommodate his form, but otherwise there were no differences. He held it up to inspect it, better able to see it much better in the sunlight than torchlight. He tested the straps and adjusted areas with his fingers, making sure there were no weak spots or unexpected rivets.

“I told you, I made sure there were no problems,” Adrianne said irritably as she noticed what he was doing.

“From one smith to another, I just wanted to check and make sure,” Gyrus said absently. “Can’t count how many times I’ve made mistakes on little sleep or under torchlight.”

“A fellow smith?” Adrianne said, surprised. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for it.”

Gyrus nodded as he tested the bracers. “I’m honestly not much more skilled than an apprentice. But my family owns a smithy back home, so…”

“Huh,” Adrianne said, interested. “Any chance I know them?”

Gyrus shrugged. “We’re located in Shor’s Stone, in The Rift. Dragonforge, owned by the Axelei family?”

Adrianne frowned. “Haven’t heard of you. But then again, I don’t do much business in The Rift. If I wind up needing a professional contact in The Rift, I’ll keep an ear out for your family’s business.”

Gyrus shot her a grateful look. “Thanks. The armor looks fine, by the way. I’m impressed you don’t let your quality slip when tired.”

Adrianne winked at him. “The trick is to drink coffees and teas from Hammerfell. Much stronger than the stuff we have here in Skyrim. Drink enough of it and it can keep you up all night,” she whispered.

Gyrus grinned. “Thank you, I’ll remember that,” he whispered back.

Adrianne nodded. “Armor’s yours now,” she said in a normal voice. “Do you want to put it on now, or would you like me to wrap it up for you?”

Gyrus thought about it for a second before replying, “I’d rather put it on now. Any place nearby with a bit of privacy to change?”

The smith pointed him to a small store room inside to get changed in, cramped with barrels and locked chests which Gyrus presumed to contain either raw materials or finished goods. He set the bundle of armor down on a chest and removed his outer tunic and boots obtained from Alvor, keeping his underclothes on to prevent chafing. After sliding the cuirass over his head and fastening the buckles, he was pleased to find that it fit like a glove. Curiously testing the range of movement, he found that he could move much easier in the armor than before. After sliding on and buckling the boots and bracers, he found they fit similarly well. Although the circumstances for needing the armor were less than ideal, Gyrus couldn’t help feeling a bit thrilled from wearing the custom-fit armor. He never wore armor back home, and even pieces he’d created or helped forge in the past never fit him quite properly. However, this set just felt _ right_. Realizing that he was taking longer than necessary, Gyrus quickly stored his clothes and old boots in his pack and hurried back outside.

Karevic was waiting for Gyrus once he emerged. The hunter looked him up and down and nodded approvingly. “Adrianne does great work,” he said. “Good thinking, changing into the armor now.”

“Thanks,” Gyrus said, rubbing the back of his neck. As far as armors went, the leather armor wasn’t very heavy, though it was still more weight from something he was wearing than Gyrus was familiar with. Thankfully, Gyrus didn’t think the armor would prove to be too much of a burden, and it hopefully wouldn’t be too hot over extended periods, either. 

“Let’s get moving then,” Karevic said, starting towards the gates. “We’re wasting daylight!”

Gyrus hurried to follow him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It felt really weird using "Karevic" for a whole chapter instead of "Kodya." That's thankfully not gonna stick around much longer because the formality barriers will soon die.
> 
> Stave castle: these are more properly called stave churches. However, given that these structures were built for Christian worship, it felt improper to call Dragonsreach a church when it's really a fortification. Most of the remaining stave churches in real life are located in Norway, though they seemed to be most common in the Scandinavian regions.
> 
> There are ten primary races of intelligent inhabitants in Skyrim: four human races, four mer (or elf) races, and two beastfolk races. The four human races are Nord, Breton, Redguard, and Imperial (not to be confused with the Imperial faction, a political and military faction introduced earlier as one of the two main combatants of Skyrim's civil war. Imperials (the faction) and Imperials (the race) unfortunately have the same name because the Imperial race is dominant in Cyrodiil, the capital of the human lands on Tamriel (the continent), and their army is one of the two main combatants in the Skyrim Civil War. Many Imperial soldiers belong to the Imperial race, but not all of them do, and not every Imperial belongs to the army or is fighting in the war.). The four main mer (elf) races are the Altmer (high elves), Bosmer (wood elves), Dunmer (dark elves), and Orsimer (orcs). There are two additional mer races, the vanished Dwemer (deep elves, which have been described earlier) and the degraded Falmer (snow elves, which will be introduced and explored later). Finally, the two beastfolk races are the Khajiit (cat people) and the Argonians (lizard people). Each race has slightly different abilities and strengths compared to the others (on average, this in no way speaks for the individual); these characteristics will be explored more in-depth later.
> 
> Dragon War: a war between humans and dragons, fought in Skyrim over dominance of the land, in the Merethic Era. Humans won thanks to the help of a handful of benevolent dragons.
> 
> The Faerie's Fortunes: is not a canon Skyrim shop. There will be many non-canon locations in this fic to flesh out the world. If you can't find it on a Skyrim wiki, it probably doesn't exist in-game. (Sorry to my coauthor for accidentally sending them running around looking for it.)
> 
> Enchanter's table: an apparatus that can be used to enchant items with magical properties using soul gems. More on this later.
> 
> Alchemy lab: a set of tools used for creating various potions, elixirs, tinctures, and poisons. More on this later.


	7. Before the Storm

“Guess they’re still keeping the gates closed, huh?” Gyrus remarked as they passed through the crowd beyond the gates, which seemed slightly more disgruntled than the day before.

Karevic nodded. “Heard from the innkeep that they’re still not letting anyone in, aside from residents and officials. Hopefully they’ll reopen it soon, since they now know the threat isn’t coming from an outside military. Who knows how much longer people will wait peacefully…” 

Gyrus made a noise in agreement, glad that his traveling partner seemed more talkative now than their last journey. “I wonder how this will impact the civil war.”

“Hard to say,” Karevic replied. “Balgruuf hasn’t chosen a side, but I imagine, with a dragon on the loose, he won’t be able to avoid it much longer. If only to have access to extra military power to defend his hold.”

Gyrus hummed in thought, “I guess we’ll just have to see. Hopefully, that decision won’t be made before we return. Dealing with the threat of a dragon is difficult enough as it is. Piling war on top of that is the last thing that needs to happen.”

“So many people would die,” Karevic agreed, shuddering. “I’d take a spriggan-infested deep forest over a city in that scenario any day.”

Gyrus grimaced, because as much as spriggans unnerved him, he had to agree. “Even better, a nice safe cave underground to wait things out,” he muttered.

“Can’t hunt for food that easily underground,” Karevic replied absently. “Hope we won’t be down in that ruin for too long…”

“Well, since we’re just going through it, and not stopping and staying to study it… No more than a few days, and only really if we get lost. Some Nordic ruins tend to be about the size of a village, sometimes even a small town. Which makes sense, if everyone used to live in them… I’ve heard they’re smaller than many Dwemer ruins, though.”

Karevic frowned. “That’s an awfully long time to potentially be stuck underground with draugr. No space is big enough when you’re in the same area as them.”

“Bleak Falls Barrow might be one of the bigger ones?” Gyrus offered uncertainly. “The outer arches seemed much bigger than the average…”

“You’ve seen it before?” Karevic questioned.

Gyrus nodded, “A glimpse of it from a distance, on my way to Riverwood from Helgen. It was easy to spot the arches on the mountainside. From what I saw, it looked like the standard build of most ancient Nordic tombs of the Merethic Era, if bigger and maybe more ornate.”

“Okay, and that means…?” Karevic trailed off expectantly.

“Really old and really, really dangerous,” Gyrus summed up.

Karevic grumbled, “Of course it is. The mage told us that much. Couldn’t have sent us to a nice old ruin without the chance of dying horribly…”

“I don’t think those exist,” Gyrus said forlornly. “Unless the ruin was tiny, or had already been cleared out.”

Karevic rolled his eyes. “With all the draugr keeping guard? Those things will be standing, barely touched, for a long, long time.” Gyrus made an unhappy noise of agreement. “So, what did you get at the magic shop, kid? Anything useful for keeping us alive?”

“Oh, yeah!” Gyrus reached back to rummage through his bag. He withdrew the two amulets and held one out for Karevic to take. The huntsman did so, frowning as he fiddled with the clasp and put it on.

“So, what do these do?” he asked once they’d both donned an amulet. “Some sort of protective charm?”

“In a sense,” Gyrus replied. “They’ll glow and warm up in the presence of the undead. The closer the undead, the greater the reaction. Should prevent us from falling prey to any sneak attacks.”

“Does it reveal their locations?” Karevic asked.

Gyrus frowned. “No, just their proximity.”

“Better than nothing, I suppose,” Karevic huffed, unsatisfied. “I hope you didn’t spend the bulk of the remaining reward on just these.”

“No, I got one more thing.” Gyrus rapped his knuckles on his pack, where he knew the leather tube that held the spell scroll was, and was gratified with a hollow thunk. “A spell scroll of guardian circle. It has a powerful restoration spell that should keep even the strongest undead at bay while healing grievous wounds.”

“Huh, not bad,” Karevic admitted. “Sounds like it could definitely save our asses in a pinch.”

Gyrus shuddered as various horrible and gruesome scenarios ran through his mind. “Yeah. Though I certainly wouldn’t be disappointed if we don’t end up having to use it.” He hoped the shopkeeper’s insistence that he needed the scroll was just a sales pitch, not a prediction of events yet to come. 

“Anything else? For more mundane encounters? Having an ace in the hole is great, but I doubt we’ll encounter all the dangers in one huddled bunch. These places have a lot of rooms, hidden side chambers. We’re not going to get very far if we have to use that ace immediately,” Karevic mused.

Gyrus winced. “I wish I could have. But magic items are expensive, especially ones of this quality, and I was already getting a hefty discount…”

Karevic grunted in acknowledgement. “We’ll have to do what we can with what we’ve got,” he said. Then he fell quiet, seeming to be deep in thought. It appeared the hunter was done talking for now.

Gyrus sighed glumly. He supposed he should count himself lucky the other had conversed as long as he did. Karevic had already talked more now than over the entire walk to Whiterun the previous day. But the silence still stung a bit, and traveling this way still felt lonely.

* * *

They neared the foothills along the southern edge of the plains around midday and stopped for a short and quiet lunch. Gyrus grimaced as he looked at the road ahead. They were seated among scattered trees right near the road; the forest thickened quickly as the land sloped up. Heading downhill to Whiterun definitely hadn’t been as much of a hardship as traveling uphill the other way would be.

Gyrus couldn’t think of any other time during his life he’d traveled so far in such a short timespan. Adrienne had thoughtfully added cotton padding beneath the fur lining of his boots to make the boots more comfortable on long journeys, but it was only a matter of time before everything below Gyrus’s hips started aching, especially given the fast pace Karevic had set. A distraction would be nice…

It took him a little over a half hour to work up the nerve to break the ice again. “So, uh, about our mission… Any plans or ideas on how we’re gonna pull this off?”

Karevic frowned, and it was a moment before he replied, “What we need to do is simple but in no way easy. We just need to survive long enough to get to the main chamber – wherever it is – find the tablet, and get out. But we’ll need to do this in unfamiliar territory, and we need to be able to fight together. I got a look at your style yesterday – you fight with a sword in one hand, and magic in the other…? And how good are you at sneaking?”

Gyrus nodded, thankful that he hadn’t been brushed off. “Yeah. I’m no good with bigger weapons and shields. Being fast enough to dodge suits me better than blocking. As for sneaking around…” he sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. “I’m pretty terrible at it, honestly.”

Karevic sighed, sounding a little disappointed. “Makes sense, to be honest. As for me, I’m sure you’ve guessed my skill is best with the bow,” he said. “Which would mean you’ll be in front and I’ll be in back in the ruin, when we have to walk single file. Bows are terrible close-range weapons, and you’d have to reach around me to get at any enemies with a sword. Not to mention, you have the better armor.”

Gyrus squeaked at the thought of being the one to lead the way into the darkness – being the one to see whatever horrors waited for them first, being the one to likely fall into any traps, being the one the draugr would attack first… Unless… “What if there’s an ambush from behind?” Gyrus asked, his throat feeling dry.

“We’d have to switch around as quickly as possible then. It’s much easier to accidentally hit your ally with fire than with an arrow,” Karevic replied, sounding unimpressed. “I’m not completely helpless in close combat, either.”

“O-okay then,” Gyrus said unsteadily, trying to control his breathing to keep calm. It wasn’t entirely working.

Karevic sighed again, this time sounding more irritated. “Look, I’ve seen enough of you fighting to know you can handle a few seconds of close-quarters combat, so don’t try to tell me you _ can’t_. And if you’re pathetic enough to try to tell me you _ won’t_, you might as well wait outside the ruin because you’ll be useless otherwise.”

“Wh— I never said I wouldn’t do it!” Gyrus protested, taken aback by the sudden abrasiveness. He swallowed the next words on his tongue, about how it was natural for anyone who was facing terrible danger to be afraid and reluctant – but any Nord with a tie to their native culture would view that as a shameful, dangerous weakness. Unlike Gyrus, who was half-Nord and half-Imperial, Karevic seemed to be a full Nord. But despite how many times Gyrus had been chastised by his neighbors and family for talking about this weakness and not suppressing it, the stifled words still tasted like bitter acid in his throat.

Karevic asked, “So, will you do it?”

“_Yes! _” Gyrus snapped, exasperated. “What in Oblivion gives you the right to call me useless and pathetic?”

“Because that’s what you are. It’s obvious you’re not all that well-equipped to go running around in ancient Nord ruins, kid,” Karevic stated bluntly. 

Gyrus twitched at the moniker, insulted by it for the first time. “And what would make you think that?” he demanded.

“Because you’re an _ idiot_, for starters,” Karevic replied hotly. “Weak, too, though it could be worse. But it’s your naiveté that will get us _ both _killed if you keep it up.” 

“_Excuse me _?” Gyrus sputtered. Where had this come from? Moments ago, the hunter had neutral, bordering on friendly, and now…!

“There are _ so _many things I could point out, but let’s focus on the big one: what kind of fool volunteers to dive into a dangerous ruin – which he isn’t prepared for, physically or mentally – right after surviving a dragon attack?” Karevic demanded.

Gyrus bristled in anger. If the huntsman wanted an argument, he would get one. “You think I _ want _ to do this? To delve into Bleak Falls Barrow, to get a stone slab that _ might not even be there_, which even soldiers sent from jarls ages ago couldn’t manage to clear?”

“Well, if you didn’t, why in Talos’s name would you volunteer to?” Karevic countered sharply.

“Because no one else would, and if I can do at least _ something _ to prevent another incident like Helgen, I have to try,” Gyrus retorted.

“Do you think this is some kind of fairytale? A ballad sung by a bard in a tavern? It’s not your duty – and it damn sure isn’t mine – to try and save everyone!” Karevic snarled bitterly.

“Maybe not, but at least I’m not sitting idly by while cities burn! And neither are you!” Gyrus jabbed heatedly.

Karevic scowled. “If I’d had my druthers, I wouldn’t even _ be _on this mission!”

“Then why in Nirn did you agree to come?” Gyrus demanded.

“The reward, mostly, but you also _ made allegations about my character to the Jarl_; how could I have said no without consequences?!” Karevic hissed, indignant.

“I _ specifically _ made sure you didn’t get roped in as part of the manservant act!” Gyrus snapped.

Karevic made an aggravated noise. “Fine. Thank you, I suppose, for not entirely forcing me to come along. Though if I’d said no, there’s a good chance the Jarl would have thought of me as two-faced, if not something worse, with the worst-case scenario being that I’d have to completely move cities!” 

Gyrus gaped. “You’re paranoid!” he accused. 

“And you’re naїve,” Karevic retorted. “I wonder which one of those will serve us better for surviving in the ruins? With all of the trouble you’ll doubtlessly bring, it would have been better to be stuck going alone on this damn quest than stuck going with _ you_!”

Gyrus reared back, stung. His eyes prickled. “Then why didn’t you just leave me behind in Whiterun?” he asked unsteadily. Blast it, hatred from a virtual stranger should not be getting to him like this. “If I’m such a damned _ burden _to you?”

Karevic grunted. “Thought the magic could come in handy. But it doesn’t help when it seems like you don’t have a _ lick _ of common sense in your skull!”

Gyrus flinched, but stubbornly replied, “Look, if you’re trying to drive me off, it’s not going to work. I’ve come to help you, and help Skyrim, however I c—”

There was barely any warning, aside from the slightest rustle Gyrus heard from the brush on the other side of Karevic. All of a sudden, a large wolf lunged from the foliage, snapping and snarling. 

Gyrus reacted without thinking and grabbed Karevic’s shoulder pauldron, yanking the huntsman out of the way before he could even turn around and see the wolf. Extending his other hand, Gyrus let his magicka rush forth, releasing a torrent of flames at the beast. In response, the wolf howled in pain and staggered from the blaze, but then charged forth blindly. Before the wolf could get much further, Gyrus quickly drew his sword with his free hand and delivered a swift killing blow to its neck. As the wolf fell, Gyrus pulled back his flames to a flickering sliver in his free hand and prepared for more beasts to spring at them. After a few moments, when no other creatures or danger made themselves known, he extinguished the flame and lowered his sword. He let out a shaky sigh as the adrenaline from the attack wore off and his heartbeat gradually slowed. 

“…Good reflexes,” Karevic remarked awkwardly after a moment before stepping around Gyrus and approaching the smoldering remains of the wolf. Gyrus thought it might be the closest he’d get to thank-you from the prickly man, particularly after their explosive argument. “This wasn’t a typical wolf attack,” the hunter muttered as he eyed the beast.

“What do you mean?” Gyrus asked while wiping the blood off his sword using a torn piece of tattered potato sack from his old makeshift clothes. 

“For starters, wolves hunt in packs,” Karevic replied, gingerly putting on cheaply-made gloves from his pocket stone and prodding the beast. “Though even then, they usually avoid people. Might go after a child alone, but generally not grown men.”

Gyrus frowned, “So why would this one attack?”

Karevic hummed in thought, his brow furrowed. “It may have been diseased,” he answered as he gingerly pried at the snout.

“How do you figure?” Gyrus inquired, sheathing his weapon. He winced at the disturbing cracking sounds coming from the corpse as Karevic forced the crisped jaw to open.

“The mouth,” Karevic responded after a moment and gestured to the remains. “Although you did quite the job in burning the beast beyond recognition, there’s a foamy buildup in the back of the mouth.”

Gyrus grimaced. “That’s from Brain Rot, right?” After a moment’s contemplation, he tossed the bloodied rag into the bush and vowed to wash his hands when they came upon the mountain stream. Maybe even using soap, if Karevic had any.

Karevic hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe. Could also be Thunvir’s Rage.”

Gyrus exhaled heavily. “Well, I’m glad I killed it before it could get to either one of us,” he said shakily. Potions to cure those kinds of diseases were hellishly expensive, and sometimes they didn’t even work, in the case of Thunvir’s Rage. 

“Made the pelt nice and worthless in the process,” Karevic grumbled.

“Like it would be worth it to take the hide of a diseased beast in the first place?” Gyrus retorted snappishly, glaring.

Karevic glowered back for a moment before slumping with a sigh. He took off a glove and pinched the bridge of his nose before saying, in a low voice, “Look, I’m sorry. I’ve been treating you unfairly. I’m just frustrated about this entire venture.”

Gyrus blinked in surprise. “What?” That hadn’t been the answer he was expecting.

Karevic sighed as he stood. He grimaced before removing his other glove and tossing them into the bushes. “I’m not fond of teammates,” he replied cryptically, “But… you’re not as bad as you first come off. If we have to do this together, we have to work together. Petty insults and sniping won’t help.”

Gyrus stared at the huntsman for a moment. He couldn’t tell if the man was genuinely apologetic for what he’d said, or if he was just trying to bury the hatchet so they could work better together. The abrupt turnaround seemed a little strange. But Gyrus couldn’t afford to be picky about the hunter’s intent, because they _ did _need to be able to work together in the ruins.

“Yeah,” Gyrus finally replied lamely, scratching the back of his head. “I know I’m not the best warrior out there. I’m barely more than a scholar. But I’ll do what I can to help.”

Karevic grunted in acknowledgement. “Great. Now that that’s out of the way, let’s get going. We’ve got a lot more ground to cover.”

* * *

After settling their argument, the hunter’s silent demeanor was back, but Gyrus couldn’t bring himself to be bothered by the lack of conversation after their nasty fight. He didn’t want to invite another opportunity for his character and motivations to be insulted and viciously torn into. But the quiet wasn’t much of a blessing either, he thought as he sighed unhappily. With nothing to distract him, the strain of walking all day for the past two and a half days was starting to make itself known in the various aches forming in his legs and feet, and the pain was slowly ratcheting up to unbearable. But he didn’t want to stop and rest, either, and lower Karevic’s esteem of him more. Even though they’d somewhat smoothed things over, Gyrus still felt like he was on thin ice with the other man.

Gyrus couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief as the road finally flattened out from the uphill slog the last segment had been. He knew they were getting close to Riverwood, since the village was nestled in a flat valley among the crags of this area. Gyrus quickly stopped by the river, which was now running next to the road, to wash his hands clean of blood and disease using the little bit of lye soap Karevic had stored in his pocket stone. By this point, they were no more than an hour away from Riverwood, which was good because the sun had more than halfway completed its journey to the horizon. They would need to procure lodgings for the night before getting directions to Bleak Falls Barrow; by then, it would likely be nearly dark, and traveling to the ruin would be foolish in those conditions.

But it seemed luck was on their side, and they didn’t have to waste a night in the village. Gyrus was tiredly dragging his feet behind Karevic when someone behind them called out, “Oooyy!”

Gyrus noticed Karevic’s hand casually drift towards one of the hunting knives on his belt before he turned around to see who was hailing them. It was a Bosmer, who was waving amicably with a relaxed demeanor. His only visible weapon, a bow, was slung on his back. Gyrus, exhausted, unconsciously slumped from the man’s friendly demeanor.

“Greetings!” the wood elf said as he approached. “I am Faendal of Riverwood. You, with the green hair – would you be the messenger Gyrus Axelei?”

“Ah,” Gyrus fumbled, scrambling to organize his thoughts. “Yes, I am. What of it?”

Faendal dipped his head politely in gratitude. “You are not long behind the detachment of soldiers sent to Riverwood by the Jarl. Thank you for delivering the message so expediently; I heard about it in the tavern from Alvor. If you’re traveling back to Riverwood, would you like some company?”

“Well, actually,” Karevic said shrewdly, “We might be able to use your help in a different way. You said you’re from Riverwood. Maybe you’d know the way to get to Bleak Falls Barrow?”

Faendal’s eyes narrowed as he examined Karevic. “I might,” he replied guardedly. “The only ones who want to go there, however, are fool adventurers and bandits.”

“We’re on a mission for the Jarl,” Gyrus volunteered. “There’s something in the Barrow that we need to recover for him, regarding the dragons returning. Please, it’s very important…”

Faendal eyed him for a moment before sighing. “You know, it’s very dangerous in the old ruins.”

Gyrus nodded unhappily. “I know. But we’ve prepared for the danger, as much as we could.”

Faendal muttered something under his breath that Gyrus could barely make out as “_foolhardy humans_” but nonetheless replied, “Very well. I wish you luck on your endeavor. If you continue along this path, you will soon reach a fork in the road with a signpost. Branching from this fork, there is one path unmarked by the signpost that will lead you straight up to the ruins. But it becomes less well-defined further up the mountain, so be very careful not to stray from the path, which is occasionally marked by small cairns – those small piles of stacked stones that seem somewhat common in this land? – as you’ll find yourself among unforgiving snowy cliffs otherwise. You’ll forgive me for not accompanying you on this journey, but I am ill-equipped for adventure at the moment.”

Gyrus shook his head. “No, I’m just grateful you were able to give us directions to the ruins. Thank you.”

The wood elf inclined his head. “I wish you luck on your venture. Auriel’s blessings upon you.”

With a nod and departing wave to the Bosmer, Gyrus and Karevic continued along the road.

Once they were out of earshot, Karevic grumbled, “Kid, what did I say yesterday about blabbing important information to strangers?”

“I didn’t tell him what we were looking for,” Gyrus retorted. “And _ your _approach was putting him off.”

Karevic grunted, “Hmph. Let’s just hope his directions are reliable.”

It didn’t take them long to reach the signpost Faendal had mentioned. Gyrus slumped against a fragment of crumbling stone wall, gratefully resting his aching legs and drinking from the waterskin Karevic had filled and given to him when they stopped briefly at the river. Karevic, meanwhile, was standing in front of the path Faendal had mentioned. It was unacknowledged by the signpost but was easily distinguishable as a trail by the worn, packed dirt that offset the loose, uneven earth, pebbles, and greenery of untrodden land.

“Well,” Karevic said with a sigh, “Here it is. We still have a couple more hours of daylight left. Should we continue ahead, and hope to reach Bleak Falls Barrow by night, or head to Riverwood?”

Gyrus chewed his lower lip in thought as he hooked the waterskin to his belt. “Resting somewhere safe would be good. But so would getting to the ruins earlier. What do you think?”

Karevic raised an eyebrow but replied, “I would prefer to push on ahead. The mountain the trail is ascending is small; I doubt it would take us long to make it to the end. If we need to rest before making it to the ruins, we can make camp next to the path. Not quite as secure or comfortable as a settlement, but it will make due. Hopefully, we were given instructions for the right path…”

Gyrus closed his eyes, trying to picture Bleak Falls Barrow in his memory of the trip to Riverwood from Helgen, and where it had been in relation to the village. “Even if it’s not quite the right way,” Gyrus answered slowly, “It should at least get us close. I can’t say for certain where it is, or how to get there, but I do believe this path will lead us in the right direction, from when I remembered seeing it.”

Karevic nodded. “That is heartening to hear, at the very least,” he admitted. “Now let’s go; we’re wasting daylight.” Gyrus nodded, reluctantly standing.

They started to follow the path that would hopefully take them to the ruins. Much to Gyrus’s displeasure, the path quickly guided them up a steep incline onto one of the mountains neighboring Riverwood, making his sore legs scream in discomfort. As they continued further along the path, true to what their guide had told them, it became less well-defined as vegetation thinned and the ground became rockier, and if it weren’t for the small cairns intermittently placed along the way, they would have likely accidentally wandered off the path and gotten lost in the mountainside. 

A light snowfall started to pick up the further they ascended up the mountainside, making Gyrus shiver. Although the armor was lined with soft, thick fur, it didn’t completely keep the chill from seeping in. A quick glance to his traveling companion revealed that the other seemed to be unaffected by the biting cold, or if he was, he didn’t show it, despite having nearly nothing to protect his arms. Another harsh shiver shook him, and Gyrus mentally cursed his weaker tolerance to the cold. 

At one point, Gyrus noticed a small pillar of tooled stone jutting from the blanket of snow on the mountainside, but it was too worn to tell when it had been built. It almost seemed like something that had been brought down in an avalanche. A hopeful sign they were headed the right direction, but ultimately useless. Just as he was starting to regret pushing on to the Barrow in favor of resting in Riverwood for the night, where he would have had a hot meal and warm fire to fight off the cold, Gyrus noticed a tall structure further down the path. Squinting through the flurry of snow that had started to pick up, Gyrus identified the structure as a stone watchtower of some sort. From the looks of it, the tower was not part of Bleak Falls Barrow; the architectural style placed it as much younger than from the Merethic Era. While Gyrus was considering the reason for the tower’s construction – maybe an old watchtower? – he was abruptly jolted out of his thoughts as Karevic suddenly came to a halt, swore under his breath, and grabbed Gyrus’s arm to quickly tug him behind one of the large outcroppings scattered across the mountainside.

“What is it? Why are we hiding?” Gyrus asked quietly.

“Bandits,” Karevic grumbled irritably. “Looks like they took up residence in that tower.”

Gyrus peered around the rock and, sure enough, he could spot a couple people who looked rather unkempt, and very much armed and hostile, standing watch. He had no doubt there were even more of them inside the tower. “Well, that’s just great,” Gyrus huffed with a frown. “What do you propose we do?”

Karevic hummed in thought, face creased in concentration. “We have two options: fight, or try to sneak by. If we fought them, there’s no telling how many reinforcements are waiting in the tower if they get tipped off something is wrong. But if we try to sneak by, it’s hard to tell if there are any lookouts on the top who could spot us once we’re out of sight from the two in the front.”

Gyrus made an unhappy sound. “I’d really rather not engage with them, but I’m not sure how well I’d be able to sneak past them,” he admitted.

“I personally wouldn’t want to take my chances fighting without knowing their numbers,” Karevic grunted. “We might be able to cut off the path and avoid them.”

Gyrus frowned. “We were warned to stay on the path,” he cautioned.

Karevic gestured at the mountain ridge behind the tower. “The cairns lead straight to the tower,” he said. “If the path doesn’t end at that tower, there’s only one way for it to go: the right. Left leads to the tower and the cliffs, while the mountain blocks the way straight forward. If we cut across behind the outcroppings and sparse trees, we may just be able to make it around undetected. The lessening sunlight works in our favor, too. We just need to cover our tracks, in case the bandits decide to look around and find fresh boot prints…”

Gyrus swallowed. This had the potential to go very badly. “You lead,” he offered. “Your skills as an outdoorsman no doubt outstrip mine.”

Karevic nodded. “Definitely,” he bluntly agreed. “Stay here for a moment.” The huntsman crept from behind the outcropping, backtracking a little the way they came. While keeping an eye on the bandits, he quietly unsheathed one of the knives on his belt and sawed through a branch of a nearby wild snowberry bush, then snuck back to the outcropping. Gyrus was impressed by the man’s ability to stick to the shadows.

“Here,” Karevic offered as he handed the end of the bush branch to Gyrus. “You can use this to cover our tracks. Oh, one moment…” As Gyrus held the branch, Karevic sifted among its leaves to look for berries. “Don’t want these to fall off,” the hunter said as he popped the few berries he pulled off into his mouth. Gyrus only had a moment to be jealous – snowberries didn’t grow well near his home – when Karevic’s face contorted in a pucker.

“Too tart,” he gasped. “Not ripe enough. Ugh.”

Glad that he hadn’t asked for any, Gyrus waited a moment for the huntsman to regain his composure before rustling the branch and asking, “How should I use this?”

“Sweep it behind us,” Karevic replied, a little hoarsely. “Try to get fresh snow covering our footprints.” Gyrus nodded. “Ready to go? Stay low, and follow my lead.”

Gyrus crouched, trying to stay low, as he clumsily snuck after Karevic. His legs burned, unused to the movement and already nearly taxed from traveling. Gyrus had to concentrate to keep from falling over as he swept the bush branch behind him to smooth over their tracks, wincing as the branch scraped against stone.

“Be careful with that,” Karevic hissed as they ducked behind one of the sparse, short trees next to the path. “And try to keep your footsteps softer.” Karevic frowned as he eyed the jutting outcroppings that made their chosen direction difficult to traverse. “Okay,” he said with an exhale. “If we can just get beyond two of those outcroppings—” he pointed, “—we should be much less likely to be spotted. I can get up them on my own; will you need a leg up?”

Gyrus sighed, throwing his pride to the wind in favor of practical honesty. “That would honestly be helpful,” he replied.

“You’ll go first, then,” Karevic said. “Watch out for ice. Be careful not to scrape your armor, particularly the metal bits; those will make the most noise. Once you’re up, hunch down as small as you can until I can join you. I’ll hold the branch.”

Gyrus handed over the branch and concentrated on making sure his legs didn’t fail him as Karevic boosted him up. Even though he was curled in a ball pressed against icy stone, he was grateful for the short reprieve while Karevic hoisted himself up and swept away their tracks, much more deftly than Gyrus. Thankfully, the rocks, while bitterly cold, did not seem to have a buildup of ice on them, so it was easy to climb to the second outcropping. Karevic directed him to shuffle on his hands and knees a few paces, lifting each limb so the armor didn’t scrape against the rock and make noise from the metal fittings. Gyrus shivered; his fingers felt frozen. At least the cold was numbing to his legs.

Karevic nodded as they passed next to a large outcropping that effectively hid them from the tower. He nudged Gyrus and pointed. “Another cairn,” he murmured. Sure enough, a cairn was sitting on a low ledge on the ridge in front of them, marking that the path continued around the mountain.

“So what now?” Gyrus asked tiredly.

“Once we get around that ridge, we should be fine,” Karevic replied. “We just need to cut across the path without being noticed.”

Gyrus nodded, content to follow Karevic. The man did seem to know what he was doing. He reluctantly got to his feet and let Karevic lead the way as they picked their way over the outcroppings. Close to the where they were planning on rejoining the path, where it curved around the ridge, however, Gyrus’s foot drooped a little too low in exhaustion to clear one of the outcroppings and he tripped. He managed to avoid shouting out and alerting the bandits, but he did slam into Karevic, who cursed and barely managed to avoid toppling over himself.

“S-sorry,” Gyrus stammered, trying to disentangle himself.

“Quiet!” Karevic hissed, falling still. Gyrus, awkwardly pressed against the man’s back, stopped moving too.

“Did you hear something?” a voice, not as far away as Gyrus would have liked, floated over the outcroppings.

There was a derisive snort. “Way out here? Probably just a snow fox or something. What, do you think one of the soft, squishy villagers in Riverwood would venture this far up?” Mocking laughter, abruptly cut off by what sounded like a fist hitting flesh.

“I’ll teach you not to make fun of me—!” the first voice snarled as what sounded like a scuffle erupted. Gyrus barely dared to breathe as the sounds of the fist fight grew fainter and farther away before disappearing. But still, Karevic refused to let them move until a few minutes had passed with nothing but the wind as company.

Karevic finally deemed it safe to move when he murmured, “Let go of me now.”

Gyrus winced as he let go of the other man and grabbed onto the rocks to keep from falling on his face. He levered himself upright and met a filthy glare from Karevic. 

“S-sorry,” Gyrus stammered, wobbling for a moment before his legs steadied. “I told you I was bad at sneaking around.”

Karevic rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I know. It could’ve been worse; they could have found us.” He frowned as he looked up at the darkening sky. “If we can’t make it to the ruins within the next hour, we’re going to have to camp down somewhere,” he said quietly, frowning. “It’ll be too dark to press on much later than that.”

“Let’s hope the path doesn’t go on for much longer. I’m exhausted,” Gyrus admitted.

“Hadn’t noticed,” Karevic said sardonically as he slowly started to pick his way to the end of the outcropping. “And keep quiet. Don’t want to push our luck.”

Gyrus nodded, following. It didn’t take long for them to make it back to the path, near where it curved around the ridge. They stayed low as they crossed the path, keeping an eye on the snow-blurred silhouette of the tower in the distance while relying on the snow and fading light to keep their presence hidden from the bandits. Once safely behind the concealment of the ridge, Gyrus stood fully upright to release the tension in his unhappy legs, groaning.

“Finally,” he moaned, stretching. He glanced at Karevic tiredly and noticed that the man had stopped in place, eyes widened. Gyrus followed his gaze and gasped.

There it was: Bleak Falls Barrow. The massive ruin loomed in the distance, illuminated by fading sunlight. It was no more than a half hour away, not much higher up than they were. Gyrus could make out the massive stone arches he’d seen before; from this vantage point, he could see the ruins of other arches littered down the mountainside. Further details were blurred by light snowfall, but Gyrus was thrilled to be this close after hours of travel.

“I take it that’s where we’re going?” Karevic asked lightly, heartened by the promise of their destination being so close.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Gyrus confirmed, a little breathlessly. 

Excitement renewing their strength, the pair briskly approached the ruins, crunching through thicker snow. As they drew closer, Gyrus tried to count the arches, both ruined and intact, and noticed that the stairs underneath the intact arches leading up to the Barrow’s entrance seemed to be in remarkable shape, good enough to still be used after thousands of years. 

Gyrus shook his head. _ Remarkable_, he thought.

He didn’t notice Karevic had stopped until the huntsman grabbed his arm and yanked him back when they reached the foot of the stairs. Gyrus stumbled back, confused and dismayed, when he heard rough voices shouting.

“There’s someone up here to rob!” someone shouted gleefully.

“Shit,” Karevic snarled, whipping out his bow in an instant. He let go of Gyrus to begin stringing it.

“There are bandits up here too? Seriously?” Gyrus complained fearfully as he drew his blade. Shit, he couldn’t see how many of them there were; what if they were terribly outnumbered by the bandits? Trapped on the mountainside and unable to flee, there was a chance they could be cut down even before they made it inside the ruin. Gyrus’s heartrate surged at the thought, a rush of adrenaline temporarily driving the exhaustion and pain from his mind and body.

“Archers,” Karevic noted grimly as he finished stringing his bow and testing the draw. As he drew three steel arrows from his quiver, he added, “I’ll handle this. I’ll be relying on you to keep any melee fighters away from me, got it? Come on!” Gyrus scrambled after Karevic to hide behind the remains of one of the lower arches.

Karevic calmly nocked his first arrow as he peeked around the column. For a few moments, the man was quiet and still. Then, in a space of a blink, he stepped out from behind the column far enough to fire it. In the next moment, he was back behind the column as an arrow whizzed by. But Gyrus could also barely hear a pained gurgle.

“I think I got one of them,” Karevic grunted as he nocked his second arrow. He peeked around the corner and his eyes widened. “Fuck,” he snarled. “Orc with a warhammer incoming fast, and one more archer.”

Gyrus effortlessly called fire to his hand. “If I get the orc, can you get the other archer?”

“Yeah,” Karevic said, stepping back so Gyrus would be in front. “Be fast.”

_ No room for mercy_, Gyrus thought as he stepped from behind the pillar, unleashing fire almost before he saw the charging orc. _ They will kill me if I don’t kill them. _

The orc howled in pain as the sudden heat seared his eyes and turned nearby snowflakes to steam, but did not stop advancing. Gyrus dodged a clumsy, pained stroke from the warhammer and slashed with his sword, catching the orc on the shoulder. Thick blood spurted as the orc stumblingly turned toward Gyrus. But another gout of flame to blind the orc, then a slash through the neck, finally brought the bandit down.

Gyrus stared, unseeing, at the corpse. _ It’s still so easy… _he thought, dazed.

An unexpected hand yanked him back behind the pillar. “What were you doing, just standing there, kid?” Karevic hissed before horror bloomed in his eyes. “Oh, fuck, don’t tell me that was the first time you killed someone!”

Gyrus shook his head, trying to get rid of the numbness. Why was it that he hesitated only _ after _ he had killed, never during the fights? “Had to kill in Helgen,” he mumbled. “It wasn’t my first time,” he added, a little more clearly. “Did you get the other archer?”

“Yes, but there’s no telling if there are more of them,” Karevic said. “They could be scattered all over the ruins.”

“This outer structure is unusually big for Merethic-era Nordic ruins,” Gyrus replied, trying to stay focused.

“Let’s hope they didn’t run for reinforcements,” Karevic grunted as he nocked the third arrow. After a few moments, he said, “We should try to head for the entrance to the Barrow. Might be more of them, but…”

To punctuate his words, an enemy arrow broke on the pillar they were hiding behind. “Show yourselves, murderers!” an enraged feminine voice yelled.

Gyrus flinched. _ Murderer… _

Karevic didn’t hesitate, shooting his two arrows in quick succession. A cry of pain, followed by a thud, sounded a moment later.

_ What amazing accuracy_, Gyrus thought. _ Few shots for each lethal hit, even in this dim light and wind. I’m glad he’s on my side. _

Karevic withdrew three more arrows from his quiver. “Three minutes of quiet before we move,” he growled, economically nocking another arrow. “We need to get inside. Easier to fight them if they’re not all spread out. Harder to be snuck up on than out here in the dark, too. And for gods’ sake, don’t freeze up.”

“I won’t,” Gyrus assured as he wiped his sword on the snow. He would need to clean it more thoroughly later to prevent rust, he noted absently.

“What the hell happened here?!” another voice cried as two pairs of footsteps thundered down the steps.

“These guys aren’t too quiet, are they?” Karevic remarked as he once again stepped from behind the pillar and loosed an arrow. A cry of pain, but no death rattle.

“Shit, there’s an archer!” a second voice yelled.

“I’m going to bash that archer’s brains in!” the first howled in agony.

Karevic smoothly nocked and fired another arrow from behind the pillar, then a third. This time, there was a death gurgle, partially drowned out by Karevic shouting, “Kid!”

Gyrus rushed from behind the pillar, hurtling in front of a backpedaling Karevic to block a blow from a one-handed war axe. With his other hand, he burnt the bandit, who was completely open. 

The man howled in agony. But before Gyrus could deal a deathblow, Karevic put an arrow in the bandit’s eye socket.

“This is getting tiring,” Karevic griped as they ducked behind the pillar again. “How many of these guys _ are _there?”

“Seems like a full bandit group,” Gyrus replied dully. “A few to watch at the tower. Most of them here. For whatever reason.”

Karevic grumbled as he drew more arrows. “Blasted bandits,” he growled. “Can’t even make our job easier, can they? On top of draugr and gods know what else in that ruin…”

But the next three minutes passed without a sound. Gyrus blinked, trying to see in the last vestiges of light and failing. He shivered as the night wind bit into him through his armor.

“Three minutes,” he said, his teeth chattering. “C-can we try to at least get inside the Barrow now?”

Karevic sighed. “Yeah. I don’t hear anything and we need to get out of this wind.” Even _ he _sounded chilled now. “Let me light a torch so we don’t trip going up those steps.”

Before Karevic could withdraw and light the torch, however, Gyrus gathered magicka in his cupped hand and concentrated on the idea of _ light _ before whispering the old incantation. The little candlelight floated from his hand to his head, flaring with an unnatural white light that made the snow glitter eerily.

“This should work,” Gyrus said. At the slightly perplexed look Karevic sent him, Gyrus added defensively, “What? This is quicker and I want to get inside!”

“Fair enough,” Karevic replied as they stepped from behind the pillar and finally started to climb the steps to the Barrow’s entrance. They relied on each other to keep from slipping on the icy smooth steps. Gyrus looked away from the dead bandits. Six dead, against just the two of them, walking away without a scratch. Even though the six hadn’t attacked all at once, it was impressive, in a macabre way. 

It was a stark contrast to his _ last _bandit group encounter, where he’d barely escaped with his life and lost all his belongings. So much had changed, in such a short period of time. Gyrus could barely recognize himself.

Though Gyrus wanted to look around at the outdoor portion of the ruins, it was too dark and cold to linger outside. They wound up climbing three staggered flights of stairs in total before reaching the entrance to the ruins, a pair of imposing metal doors. 

As he was distracted by the bandits earlier, Gyrus hadn’t had time to fully process that he was willingly going to enter a highly dangerous Nordic ruin shortly. It hit him all at once as he stood in front of the doors, his magic light gleaming on the ancient designs. His breath stuttered and he hesitated, despite his desire to get out of the harsh wind.

“Something wrong, kid?” Karevic asked, frowning.

Gyrus shook his head. “Nothing… just… we’re really doing this, huh?” He laughed shakily. Bitterly. 

What dangers might he face in this ruin? How likely was it that he would actually survive?

Karevic nudged him. “Come on,” he said gruffly. “We’ve gotten this far. Let’s not waste any more time out here. I’m freezing.”

Gyrus nodded and, without another word, pushed on the doors. With a creak, the doors slowly opened, and the two of them entered Bleak Falls Barrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spriggan - essentially a human-sized tree nymph made of wood, except usually very aggressive
> 
> Half-and-half races (Gyrus being half-Nord, half-Imperial) - in the original Skyrim game, children of mixed-race couples were categorized as only one race instead of mixed. Mixed-race mechanics will work differently in this fic, a little closer to real life, with some of the old mechanics thrown in. This will affect certain race relations and racial abilities/traits, and some individuals will have unique blended traits, or even recessive abilities/traits for their race. For example, one of the Nordic traits is having a high tolerance for the cold. Gyrus does not have a full Nord's tolerance, but he does have more of a cold tolerance than someone of another race with no special tolerance.
> 
> Brain Rot and Thunvir's Rage - the Skyrim game comes with several in-built diseases that cause debuffs. Brain Rot is one of them; Thunvir's Rage is not. Diseases will be modified or added to more closely mimic real-life diseases. Thunvir's Rage functions essentially as a rabies equivalent; Brain Rot is a neurodegenerative disease that can only be caught from hagravens (a specific kind of monster).
> 
> Auriel - the elven version of Akatosh, one of the main gods in the human pantheons. He is a prominent figure in many Tamrielic religions. More on religion later.


	8. Nighttime Reflections

Despite the danger, Gyrus sighed in relief as the doors groaned shut behind him, blocking the biting wind. Even though the inside of the ruin could not have been much warmer than the outside, just the lack of wind made him feel less chilled.

“Be on your guard,” Karevic cautioned as he inched forward. “No telling what’s in here. And snuff that light spell; if there’s anything in here, I don’t want to give away our position.”

Gyrus reluctantly complied; the space darkened and abruptly became more eerie. Despite his exhaustion and high-strung nerves, he was already eagerly looking around, soaking in the details of the entry chamber. 

There was no light coming from outside, but a flickering firelight at the other end of the area provided some illumination. The two of them had entered a vast chamber, over an entire acre in floor space. A massive column in the center of the chamber supported the ceiling that swooped far above their heads. Gyrus couldn’t quite tell in the gloom, but he thought that one of the walls had caved in, letting in fresh air from outside. It would certainly explain why the chamber smelled more like cold, fresh mountain air, instead of stale death and decay, which he could only detect hints of. The space gave off a feeling of emptiness, like no one had paid much attention to it for a long time.

“I don’t think there’s anyone here,” he noted, after nothing showed up to attack them. “If there were bandits in here, they were either already all outside, or drawn outside by the fight.”

“What about draugr and other beasts?” Karevic pointed out.

Gyrus shook his head as he recast his candlelight spell and squinted as he tried to make out more details in the light. “Pretty sure the bandits were living in here,” he replied. “They couldn’t have done that if they were getting attacked every few seconds. Besides, I’ve heard stories of past jarls trying to bring this place down. They didn’t succeed, but it’s possible that the draugr in this entry chamber were cleared out long ago.” He started walking forward, too tired and too intrigued by the ruins to really pay much mind to danger.

Karevic, considerably more uneasy, followed him. “I sure hope you’re right,” he remarked apprehensively.

Gyrus was so distracted looking around at the chamber that he failed to look down and almost tripped over the body. He quickly backed up a couple steps and brought the candlelight down to illuminate the dead bandit. The man had been left sprawled to decay in the cold. He’d already been left there a few days, Gyrus reckoned, wrinkling his nose at the more concentrated smell of rot.

“What was it you were saying about the bandits not getting attacked up here?” Karevic said sarcastically, kneeling to look closer at the body. “These wounds look more like skeever bites than anything made by a weapon,” he observed.

“I think it _ was _skeevers that killed him,” Gyrus said, noticing the furry, dog-sized bodies of three rat-like skeevers. “Disgusting vermin. But I still don’t think there are any draugr here. Look, the amulet isn’t even reacting.” He pulled the amulet by its chain up from under his armor. It was as lifeless as it had been outside.

“Yeah,” Karevic agreed, sighing. “This might even be a good place to set up camp for the night. We could use the campsite the bandits set up.” He nodded toward the flickering firelight.

“Set up camp? In a ruin?” Gyrus squeaked. Even the researchers in Cyrodiil hadn’t been bold enough to set up camp inside the small Dwemer outpost they’d studied, despite no evidence of active automatons.

Karevic shrugged. “It seems safe enough if we set a watch. Beats camping outside. And you can’t tell me you’re alert enough to forgo rest and explore the depths of the ruins.”

Gyrus shivered and had to reluctantly agree.

They scanned the rest of the chamber for any other unpleasant surprises, just to be safe. There was another bandit, a woman, sprawled on a decrepit metal altar. She, too, looked like she’d been killed by skeevers, and then dragged to the altar by her companions in some sick joke. Gyrus shook his head as he whispered quick prayers to Arkay for all the dead bandits, inside and outside the Barrow. Maybe they didn’t deserve such kindness, but who was Gyrus to withhold it from them?

However, aside from the bandit’s campsite – consisting merely of a fire framed by an empty spit, a few bedrolls, a couple sacks, and a chest – there was nothing more of interest.

Gyrus groaned as he collapsed by the fire, happily letting the warmth thaw his stiff fingers and stinging cheeks. After a moment, he grabbed a log from a nearby wood pile and tossed it in. The flames happily flared as they licked at the new fuel. He closed his eyes and relaxed, letting the heat penetrate down to his bones.

“Stay here for a moment, kid,” Karevic ordered. “I’ll be right back. Try not to get into any trouble.”

Gyrus nodded absently as he lazily blinked open his eyes and stared into the flames. He didn’t want trouble; he just wanted to rest his tired body. _ And maybe have something to eat_, he mentally amended as he noticed the hunger gnawing at his stomach, no longer buried by adrenaline and other distractions. But Karevic was carrying almost all their food, and he’d wandered off for some reason.

Sighing and rubbing his eyes, Gyrus figured that now was as good a time as any to start working on the journal he’d bought a couple days ago, given that he finally had the time to devote some attention to it. He stiffly unshouldered his pack and unearthed the journal, quill, and thankfully intact bottle of ink.

He wanted to preserve what he could remember of his lost notes from the Dwemer outpost and his personal family project, but before he could put ink to page, Gyrus found his mind drifting to the events of the past few days, no matter how many times he redirected it. Sighing, he decided that his other notes would just have to wait a little longer; he couldn’t concentrate well with all that was on his mind. He instead began to chronicle the events of the past few days, starting with a short summary of his mugging and then jumping to waking up on the cart…

He barely noticed when Karevic returned to the small camp, a few minutes later. He jumped when Karevic said, out of the blue, “That kind of inattention could get you killed, you know.”

Gyrus scowled at the flick of ink that marred the page. Thankfully, it didn’t cover too much; everything was still legible. “I thought you agreed this place was safe to spend the night.”

“Safe _ enough_,” the huntsman clarified.

“What were you doing, anyway?” Gyrus asked petulantly.

Karevic held up an iron pot. “Figured some hot dinner would be nice,” he replied, as he withdrew a small hook and holder from his pocket stone and fit the pot into it. “I was out gathering snow to melt.” 

Gyrus moaned at the thought of a hot meal. “Great idea,” he said as Karevic carefully attached the hook and pot to the spit.

“What are you working on there?” Karevic asked absently as he stoked the fire, coaxing it to burn hotter and melt the snow faster.

“A journal,” Gyrus replied. “I got robbed of everything I owned on my way back to Skyrim, including research notes from my trip. I want to jot down everything I remember, but…”

“Your trip?”

“Oh, I guess I didn’t mention it…” Gyrus realized. Come to think of it, they hadn’t talked much about each other, despite relying on each other to survive on their mission. “It was most of the reason I was in Helgen that day.”

“Oh?” Karevic looked over curiously as he withdrew a long stirrer from his pocket stone.

“Yeah. If I hadn’t lost my papers, I wouldn’t have had to try to sneak over the border and gotten caught in the Imperial ambush for the Stormcloaks. They didn’t realize I wasn’t a criminal, and I was actually a prisoner when, well…”

“The dragon,” Karevic said gravely as he stirred the slush in the pot, trying to encourage it to melt faster.

Gyrus laughed bitterly. “Yeah. It was terrible. I had no business there. I was just trying to get home. I miss my family so much…” He set his journal and ink to the side and hugged his knees to his chest, a weak comfort.

Karevic propped the stirrer on one of the spit legs and moved to sit next to Gyrus. “You, ah, want to talk about it?” he asked awkwardly. “It sounds like you’ve got a lot on your mind. Distraction can be someone’s worst enemy…”

Gyrus huffed out a chuckle. Karevic was nothing if not practical. “I guess… I just really miss my family,” he admitted, not caring if this lowered Karevic’s opinion of him. “Seven brothers and sisters, and both of my parents. We’re a tight-knit bunch.” Gyrus sighed. “This is by far the longest I’ve been away from any of them,” he murmured despondently. “I keep getting waylaid and sidetracked. I’m worried I’ll never make it home at this rate.”

“You’ve lasted this long, haven’t you?”

“I guess… but more from luck than from any particular skill.”

“Luck can be as important as any skill. I’m sure you’ll see your family again somehow,” Karevic said awkwardly.

“What about your family?” Gyrus asked. “Surely there is someone who would care if you died.”

“My family died when I was young,” Karevic shared quietly, staring blankly into the fire.

“I’m sorry. That must have been hard,” Gyrus replied sincerely.

Karevic shrugged. “I made do.” He stood and checked the snow again. He grunted in approval and removed some food from his inventory. He sat back down as he pulled out a small plank of wood and started to cut up apples and carrots.

Gyrus chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment before timidly asking, “C-could I call you by your first name?” Even if the informality didn’t mean much, Gyrus wanted to share some camaraderie with his partner. A cold comfort compared to the warmth and closeness of his family.

Karevic looked up in surprise for a moment before returning to his work. “I don’t mind. Gyrus, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Interesting name.”

“My father’s line has passed down some rare Nordic traditions,” Gyrus mumbled.

Kodya slid the chopped ingredients into the pot before pulling out more food from his pocket stone. Gyrus couldn’t tell what he was adding. Spices, some jerky, and maybe some cheese?

“So, Gyrus,” the huntsman began conversationally. “Earlier, when we were fighting those bandits…”

Gyrus flinched. “My hesitation, right?” he said dully.

“Yes. We need to talk about that before we venture further into the Barrow tomorrow. Don’t want you freezing up on me in the middle of a fight.”

“It’s just living people,” Gyrus said defensively. “I don’t have a problem killing beasts and monsters.”

“Draugr were living people, once,” Kodya pointed out as he stirred whatever he was concocting in the pot, which was starting to smell very, very good.

“Not anymore. They’re undead, not alive. In fact, it may be a service to them, releasing them from whatever keeps them bound here so they can move on,” he argued.

“I hope you’re not lying to look more confident, kid,” Kodya prodded.

Gyrus glared, a little weakly. “I’m not.”

Kodya grunted. “We’ll see when we go looking for the main chamber tomorrow. …This is close to being done, by the way.” 

Gyrus licked his lips hungrily, eager to fill his empty stomach and forget about bandits.

Kodya, however, wasn’t done with the subject yet. “Even if it won’t be a problem against monsters, freezing after killing someone… It’s a weakness. Mourn for them later, if you like, but you can’t freeze in the middle of a fight. That’s just asking to be killed. Once things descend to a kill-or-be-killed fight… you don’t want your opponent to accomplish their goal. Which includes letting misplaced guilt destroy you; otherwise, whoever was trying to kill you might just succeed, just much slower. Besides, you are killing them in combat, so you are at least granting them an honorable death and opening the doors to Sovngarde for them.” 

It was the most Gyrus had heard the huntsman talk at one time. A pity it was about something he didn’t want to discuss. He nodded jerkily, to show that he’d heard, and looked down at his boots. He was too hungry to sort out his internal dilemma properly, so he filed away Kodya’s advice with Hadvar’s, to be agonized over later. Or never.

Gyrus perked up when he saw two rough bowls and spoons materializing from Kodya’s pocket stone. “Is it ready?” he asked hopefully.

Kodya gave him an irritated glare. “Be patient,” he chided. A small ladle appeared in his hand as he scooped the soup into the bowls. He held out the first one to Gyrus, who happily snatched it. 

“Wait for it to cool – never mind…” Kodya rolled his eyes as Gyrus fell upon the food, hissing as the hot food scalded his tongue but nonetheless shoveling in food as fast as he could bear. 

“Have as many servings as you want; we’ll need the strength,” Kodya said as he waited for his portion to cool to more tolerable levels. 

“Thwis tis gwleat,” Gyrus mumbled around a mouthful of stew. “Gods,” he gasped as he swallowed. “This is great! It’s amazing you can whip something like this up in the middle of nowhere; you’re a great cook!” The soup was creamy and hearty, exactly what he needed to fill his belly and regain his strength. Gyrus finished his first portion and ladled in his second. Gods, between all the travel and fighting and falling asleep before he could eat the previous night, no wonder he was starving.

Gyrus couldn’t quite tell in the firelight, but it looked like Kodya was blushing a little from the sincere compliment. “Glad it’s to your taste,” the hunter said as he pulled something from his pocket stone. “Here, some bread to sop up the remnants.”

“Thanks.” They finished the meal in silence, aside from the sound of scraping utensils, and successfully emptied the pot after multiple servings each. Gyrus sighed contently, pleasantly full and warm. He could have even been comfortable, if he wasn’t in a Nordic ruin.

“Looks like I’m taking the first watch,” Kodya said as he eyed how sleepy Gyrus was. “Do me a favor and stay awake long enough to watch your own back while I go outside and clean the food from my kit? Don’t want to attract any skeevers with the smell.” Kodya materialized two closed bedrolls secured with twine from his inventory. “Set these up near the fire, close enough for warmth but not close enough that an ember could set fire to them.”

“And we can’t use the bandit bedrolls because…?” Gyrus yawned.

Kodya snorted as he gathered up the dishes. “I’m not going to catch fleas and mites and gods know what else from ill-bathed bandits. Besides, ours are likely more comfortable. Mine is the one with the black wrapping.”

Gyrus nodded woozily, frowning at the gross thought of contracting parasites just because he was too lazy to set up his own bedroll. He clumsily climbed to his feet as Kodya left the campsite and headed outside to tend to the dishes. After grabbing one of the bedrolls, Gyrus spent a few moments considering where to put them, because the bandits had already taken the best spots. But the bandits were dead, and they wouldn’t complain if someone stole their places. Gyrus disrespectfully kicked the bandit bedrolls out of the way – an action that would have gotten his ears boxed back home if his mother had seen it – and unrolled their own bedrolls. Groaning, he painstakingly removed his armor so it wouldn’t be damaged or warped while he was sleeping and set it aside. He checked to make sure that he was climbing into the right bedroll before snuggling inside. Kodya had been right; these were nice, made of furs stitched together with the warm fur lining the inside… 

Gyrus fell asleep to the sound of the crackling fire and the smells of snow and death.

* * *

Kodya shook his head when he returned to the campsite to find Gyrus already fast asleep, buried in his bedroll. It was as if the kid had forgotten they were camping down next to skeevers, draugr, and who knew what else. The kid’s green hair was already messy from sleep and his face was relaxed. He truly did look just like a kid, blissfully ignorant of the dangers of the world and blindly placing trust in anyone who showed him a modicum of kindness. Kodya was torn between feeling disgusted or envious to have such a luxury. Though maybe not so much envious of the “luxury” to carefreely gamble with one’s own life for a few more minutes of rest. 

Kodya frowned as he sat by the fire, preparing for hours of watch. Long night watches could be the worst, with only his thoughts and shadows for company.

_ Well… _ Kodya thought, narrowing his eyes as he zeroed in on a small chest he’d neglected in favor of cooking. _ Maybe I can spend a few minutes relieving these bandits of their stolen goods. _

Quietly, so as not to wake his companion, Kodya walked over to the chest and gently jiggled the lid. Locked, as he was expecting, but the lock looked to be of shoddy quality. It wouldn’t be hard to pick. A lockpick appeared from his inventory as Kodya knelt down and picked the simple lock. It barely took him a minute to have it opened, and he quietly eased the lid back. He wrinkled his nose as he took in the contents: mostly empty space and a handful of septims. Pitiful. This group of bandits probably only had this large chest to stoke their egos with the illusion that they had something valuable. Nonetheless, he squirreled away the few coins: six silvers, seven coppers. Having some extra cash definitely wouldn’t hurt; the two of them barely had any money left after preparing for this venture.

Kodya scowled as he grabbed a couple logs to add to the fire and then re-took his seat, reminiscing about the events of the past two days. If someone had told him even a week ago that he’d soon be accompanying some fresh-faced kid from a backwater mining town into a Nordic ruin to retrieve an artifact to help defend against the return of the dragons, he would have laughed in their face. And maybe shot them somewhere non-lethal to try to re-orient them to reality, because life didn’t work like that.

Except that it apparently did.

* * *

_ Kodya should have known that the kid would be trouble at first sight, _and that he should have gone on his own way after retrieving his pocket stone. But no, he’d already been delayed from going to Whiterun, and him trailing after the kid, or the kid trailing him, would have just been uncomfortable. Maybe even more uncomfortable than the kid being stubbornly chatty, despite Kodya trying to make it clear that he wasn’t in the mood for idle chit-chat.

Then the kid had gotten him into Whiterun, past the guards. Which had turned out to be the worst piece of good fortune Kodya had ever experienced, because he’d gotten dragged up to Dragonsreach and the meeting with the Jarl.

Kodya had first thought Gyrus was insane when he started spouting off about dragons to a jarl stuck in the middle of a tug-of-war between General Tullius and Ulfric Stormcloak. But the jarl hadn’t interrupted, listening to the impossible tale with keen eyes. Kodya had been waiting with baited breath for Balgruuf to call his guards to take them both to the dungeons for wasting his time and energy with such nonsense. Or, possibly, to the Temple of Kynareth for a sorely-needed mind healing.

Balgruuf seriously believing and endorsing Gyrus’s tale was somehow worse than Gyrus being insane. Balgruuf was a very shrewd man and would not affirm the kid’s tale without proof of his own to back up his convictions. Which meant that somehow, impossibly, dragons had actually returned to Skyrim. And obliterated Helgen. And the kid hadn’t thought to warn him about it ahead of time! Not that it was likely he would have believed it without proof, but still!

It had never been harder for Kodya to keep a straight face than during that meeting.

Kodya had still been reeling from the revelations and only half paying attention when he realized Balgruuf was trying to coerce Gyrus into going on some dangerous quest for him. Panicked, Kodya had almost broken his cover to protest when the kid cracked and accepted it, because Kodya’s disguise for the meeting would force him to come on whatever venture the kid was being sent on. He’d shut his mouth just in time, immediate self-preservation overriding his panic.

Thankfully, Gyrus was an honorable enough man that he tried to make sure that Kodya wasn’t bound to the task. But his damned _ naiveté _made it so that Kodya almost had to agree to go anyway.

* * *

Kodya scowled at the crackling fire. Getting stuck on an extremely dangerous mission was _ not _his idea of any venture he wanted to take part in. But here he was anyway, camping in the damned ruin itself. 

He tried to console himself with the fact that the reward for the task would be substantial, and that the kid would fork over most of it, even without any subtle intimidation or manipulation. Last night, he’d even flirted with the thought that it was rewarding to be doing something substantial, even heroic for once – but he quickly shoved the idea out of mind again. He was _ no _hero, and true heroes were fantasies and only existed in children’s tales anyway. If it wasn’t about the money – which it mostly was – it was about repaying a debt to the kid, for stalling the pocket-stone thieves and then getting him into Whiterun, even though both had turned out less than ideal.

Kodya’s thoughts drifted again to the events of the previous night.

* * *

_ Kodya still had enough energy to start for the ruin after the meeting with the Jarl, _even though it was already after dark. But the kid looked almost asleep on his feet, somehow seeming years younger as he blearily trusted Kodya to lead them somewhere safe to rest. It was almost cute, like a toddler holding onto a parent’s sleeve, except that it was terribly dangerous for an adult to be acting this way. It was carelessness that could easily be taken advantage of, even leading to the kid’s death.

Which, at the moment, was bad for Kodya, because he wanted to come out of this mess with life, limb, and reputation reasonably intact. Which meant watching after the kid, even if he didn’t want to take care of someone who should be perfectly responsible for himself. Despite his apparent age, he acted remarkably like a child. Not a nobleman; he lacked the snobbiness, but he was mostly untested and ignorant of certain realities, which made him vulnerable. And it was stupid to take someone like that outside of Whiterun’s walls in this state when they could both rest and be more alert for traveling during the safer daylight hours.

So Kodya had taken them to the safest inn he knew with decent prices. Some time after the kid had collapsed, Kodya found that the kid hadn’t even taken his boots and pack off before falling asleep. Kodya, after trying and failing to wake the kid up to take care of it himself, felt put-upon to take off the kid’s boots and pack himself so he wouldn’t unduly dirty the bed – which carried the possibility of extra fees – and so the kid’s belongings wouldn’t end up crushed; there might be something important in that bag. 

His hand had drifted back down to the bag he’d put on the floor, almost of its own accord. The pack was just sitting there, ripe for the taking. Anyone could wander in and just… take any gold or other valuables it held and the kid would be none the wiser… Kodya should probably make sure the contents were… properly stored… it would be a shame if something were to be missing, after all… 

Kodya shook his head roughly. Damn it, it wasn’t any of his business what the other man was carrying with him. Frustrated, he distracted himself from the kid by taking stock of his inventory and making a short list of the supplies they would need._ Gods_, what he wouldn’t give for this entire fiasco to just be a bad dream.

* * *

But sitting here, in the entrance hall of Bleak Falls Barrow among the dust and the dead, was no bad dream.

_ Bad dreams, you can wake up from_, Kodya thought grimly as he stared into the embers of the fire. _ Bad dreams can’t kill you. _

Now would be a good time to take care of some last-minute preparations, to give himself the best odds of surviving this place. He carefully unhooked his equipment belt, quiver, and bow hook. Setting the bow and quiver aside, he began to catalog each of his tools, carried on his belt and in his pocket stone, to ensure each one was in perfect condition for their venture tomorrow.

His thoughts drifted back to the events of that morning as he worked.

* * *

_ Shaking the kid awake had not been fun. _It really had been like he was dealing with a child, reluctant to wake up while mumbling complaints and flipping over. Kodya was only half paying attention to the kid as he slowly started to wake up, more focused on making a quick final check that all his gear was in good condition before they left the inn to prevent any setbacks. But he was snapped back to full attention when he caught what was likely just the kid sleepily voicing his thoughts out loud.

“Let’s just make sure we’re not going too fast. Don’ wanna make dumb mistakes and get killed…”

_ “If you move too fast or you get scared… you get sloppy. And that’ll get you caught or dead.” _

Kodya quickly and forcefully banished the old words that echoed in his head from his mind, perturbed that the kid had echoed their wisdom so clearly, and urged him to gather his things. They had business to take care of; there was no time for distractions.

(It wasn’t “moving too fast” when Kodya knew what he was doing anyway, damn it.)

* * *

Kodya eyed all the food he’d bought earlier that day and frowned. It was primarily food that would last for a while, but without portioning, they’d definitely go through it too fast. He grabbed an old, ratty tunic he’d forgotten had been in his inventory and set to work cutting it into squares to apportion out the food. Rationing was never fun, but it was necessary to stretch out their endurance. Kodya really hoped the kid wouldn’t complain about it, because Kodya could get irritable on ration portions, and he’d already blown up at the kid once, maybe slightly unfairly.

* * *

_ Kodya remembered how his simmering frustration from the past couple days had exploded, _ when the kid seemed to panic at the mere thought of being the one to lead in the ruin, despite it being by far the most practical arrangement. It was the starkest demonstration yet that the kid was not prepared for the task ahead, particularly mentally. While the kid could fend off a few enemies from what he had seen, it wouldn’t be _ near _ enough in a tomb filled with the draugr of ancient Nord warriors with decades of experience in life and millennia of practice as undead. Even if, by the grace of the Divines, the kid _ did _somehow manage to hold up against them, he had to survive the myriad other dangers of the ruins, too, all without tripping up Kodya. It seemed a damn near impossible thing to expect. And his blasted rose-tinted inexperienced worldview…!

Pathetic. And to think that the kid was originally planning on going alone? _ This _ was what Kodya was stuck with? An inept coward with no understanding of his limitations? By the gods, this milk-drinking idiot was going to get _ both _of them killed.

He seared the kid with _ exactly _how he felt about being stuck with him on this fool’s errand. 

When Gyrus had yanked Kodya towards him, his magic fire blazing forth, Kodya had thought the kid was actually_ attacking _him for his words until he’d heard the furious, pained yelps of a crazed beast. Kodya hadn’t even noticed the animal and definitely wouldn’t have reacted in time, but the kid somehow had, not only reacting but reflexively defending against the threat.

Given that display, maybe the kid wouldn’t be such a worthless burden after all. Not that Kodya wanted to admit it aloud, but the kid was obviously still smarting from earlier, so Kodya awkwardly apologized to smooth things over. Moreso to patch up their teamwork than because Kodya cared about the kid’s stupid feelings. The kid had sorely needed that dose of reality, anyway.

Of course, Kodya wasn’t sure how well that dose of reality would sink in, given that the kid went and literally blabbed _ everything about their task _ to the Bosmer who’d stopped them on the road. Gods, had the kid even listened to him yesterday, about not imparting important information to a stranger – especially the part about being on business for a jarl? Just because the elf seemed friendly enough didn’t mean he actually was; Kodya made sure his hand didn’t stray too far from one of the daggers he had ready on his person. At least they’d gotten directions from the elf, though Kodya was somewhat skeptical of their reliability.

* * *

With his tools, knives, and food cleaned, sharpened, portioned, and generally ready, Kodya returned everything to his pocket stone, save for his bow maintenance kit, and brought over his bow and quiver, to make sure his bow was cleaned and polished, ready for use, and to check each arrow, to ensure each one would fly true.

Kodya was glad he’d gotten more arrows – he would need them in this ruin – but he cursed himself for admitting that to the kid earlier. The kid, that damn naïve kid, had been all too quick to offer up more than enough money to cover the cost. From Kodya’s experience, no one was ever that generous without a hidden agenda – as relatively small as the sum had been, Kodya knew the kid barely had anything left to spare after buying supplies – but the brief amount of time he’d spent with the kid had been enough for him to know the kid had no ulterior motive, other than making sure Kodya was well-prepared for the ruin. His pride wasn’t worth gambling his life on his quiver only being part-full, so despite that every fiber of his being had protested the charity, Kodya had accepted the coins and purchased some good arrows. 

Which these were. The fletching was crisp and neat, the shafts were straight without flaw, and the steel tips were sharp, stronger than the cheaper iron arrows he usually hunted with and ready to pierce flesh. Some of them already had, without the in-depth checks, earlier on the mountain.

Kodya frowned as his thoughts drifted back once again. Their trek up the mountain had revealed even more potential problems for their exploration into the ruin…

* * *

_ There hadn’t been any snags as they ascended the mountain, _ until a light snowfall picked up. Kodya hoped it wouldn’t get any heavier than that – not because the cold bothered him (after all, what kind of Nord would he be if he fussed about a little flurry of snow?), but because he didn’t want to lose sight of their trail up this mountain in a whiteout. Unfortunately, Kynareth did not take pity upon them, and the snowfall had increased. 

With his visibility reduced by the snow, Kodya hadn’t spotted the old watchtower, occupied by who knew how many bandits, until it was almost too late. He cursed his increasingly rotten luck and quickly grabbed the kid before they could get spotted. 

Sneaking around had been their best option, but the kid hadn’t been lying when he’d said he was absolutely terrible at sneaking. While part of it could be attributed to him being unused to the new armor, the kid obviously had little to no experience staying hidden, with clumsy and almost unbearably loud movements. The kid had even_ tripped _ into him at one point. Kodya could barely remember the last time anyone had tripped into him while sneaking around.

Kodya had to admit, his first glimpse of Bleak Falls Barrow was breathtaking: a massive, ancient, yet still functional structure with stairs leading to huge stone arches that towered above the main ruins. Of course, his interest quickly faded when he noticed more bandits littered about the ruins, and when they had noticed Kodya and the kid back, they were more than eager for a fight.

While he was certainly not happy about having to deal with another group of bandits, especially more violently, it was a perfect opportunity to test how they fought together. For a few moments, Kodya thought they did seem to work well together. But he found the kid hadn’t ducked back to their cover because he’d frozen over the dead bandit. Oh, _shit_ – was this the first time the kid had killed someone? At least he hadn’t frozen _before _the man was dead, but by the gods, on top of everything else, Kodya _now _had to deal with the kid’s battle hesitation too? At least, when he’d asked, it wasn’t the kid’s_ first _first kill in battle, though it wasn’t much better that the first one had happened only two days ago, in Helgen, and it obviously hadn’t been mentally dealt with yet. Another thing Kodya would have to address before they ventured into the depths of the ruin. 

The inside of the ruin was thankfully void of any bandits. Well, any live bandits at least. Conveniently, there was a small camp that the bandits had set up at the end of the entry chamber, saving Kodya the trouble of finding a way to make a fire in the old ruins. Kodya was unsurprised that the kid was initially averse to the idea of staying in the entry chamber, but with the only other option being to venture out into the cold to find suitable cover to set up camp, the kid quickly caved to the idea.

Kodya set about making something filling for them to eat after their long day of travelling and their skirmish with the bandits; they would need all their strength for tomorrow. Since cooking didn’t take much thought, he used this time to talk to the kid about where his head was and his hesitation. Though Kodya, in the mood, revealed a little more about himself than he wanted (and damn if he wasn’t jealous of the kid’s large, close-knit family he described), it was easy to change the subject to something more pragmatic. Kodya could only hope that the kid at least listened to his advice on hesitation in battle, or was telling the truth about not having problems with non-human creatures, but he wouldn’t stake too much on it, since the kid seemed to have disregarded his lecture on blabbing important information to strangers. For as smart as the kid seemed, he really was completely idiotic in some regards… like shoveling burning hot food in his mouth. 

He really shouldn’t have been surprised at that point.

* * *

With all his weaponry and gear checked and maintained, Kodya gently set it all aside within close reach. He thought for a moment about checking the kid’s discarded gear but dismissed it; the kid could look over his own gear, either during his shift or under Kodya’s eye in the morning. Kodya kept his bow strung, just in case he needed to use it on a skeever or something, though it had been quiet so far. At least his shift was close to over.

Kodya sighed and wearily scrubbed a hand over his tired eyes. He was eager to dive into the ruin, retrieve the Dragonstone, deliver it to the court wizard, and leave it, along with everything else having to do with this fool’s quest, behind him. Gods, and to think his biggest worry yesterday was retrieving his pocket stone from a lucky group of bandits. What he would give for that to be his biggest problem now, instead.

Gyrus Axelei was a curse disguised as a blessing. Kodya hoped that he would never, ever, ever have to see him again after this terrible venture. Assuming they both survived…

* * *

Gyrus woke up to Kodya shaking him. “It’s time for your shift,” the huntsman said wearily as Gyrus tried to kick his brain into gear. “I need to rest.”

“Anything interesting happen while I was out?” Gyrus yawned, stretching to get his blood moving. 

“No. It was quiet. Wait until after dawn to wake me up,” Kodya said shortly as he started to remove his armor and unstring his bow. “And _ don’t _ fall asleep. I swear, if I die because you fell asleep and something killed me, I will murder you again in the afterlife.”

“Eep!” Gyrus squeaked. Apparently, Kodya was very grumpy when sleep-deprived. “I won’t fall asleep! I promise!” He hastily extracted himself from his bedroll and hissed and shivered as his bare skin hit the cold morning air. Kodya hadn’t let the fire die, but it was way too low for Gyrus’s comfort.

“Good,” Kodya grumbled. Just before he slid into his bedroll, he thrust a small box into Gyrus’s hands. “Make sure to use this. Night, kid.”

“Night, Kodya,” Gyrus replied automatically as he set the box aside and hurried to shove more wood onto the campfire to stoke it higher. As the fire crept along the fuel, growing larger, Gyrus hastened to grab his armor from where he’d stowed it the night before and don it. He sighed in relief as the extra layer of fur and leather, combined with the bigger fire, made the space suddenly much more comfortable.

Even if it wasn’t quite as comfortable as the bedroll.

Gyrus sighed and shook his head as he looked mournfully at his bedroll. He probably wouldn’t be using it again tonight. Just for something to do, he busied himself rolling it up for easy stowing once the morning came, whenever that was.

Gyrus started to stand and hissed in pain as his legs fiercely protested. “Fuck,” he gasped as he took a few staggering steps, tears in his eyes. The pain wasn’t fading; his body had finally reached its limit with regards to the amount of unfamiliar overuse that he could subject it to before finally fully rebelling. He cursed as he stumbled to sit back down.

There was no way he would be able to explore the ruins if he was hobbled. And who knew how long it would take for him to naturally heal to be fighting fit? He was almost tempted to try his known healing spells on his legs, even if they only targeted superficial wounds and the problem was deeper. Kodya had mentioned that he’d bought healing potions, but it felt like a waste to use one of them on muscle soreness, even if unbearable to the point of crippling.

He sighed, then crawled over the old stone floor to where he’d left his pack. He couldn’t quite remember if there was something useful in it, but maybe…?

After digging through his pack, his fingers hit a small glass phial, wrapped in his old sackcloth clothes. He pulled it out and softly gasped as he recognized the healing potion that had already been in the pack when he’d taken it from the torturer in Whiterun. Hopeful, he popped the cork off and sniffed the potion. Cheap and weak, but still good. It would be put to better use ensuring that Gyrus would be in fighting shape by the time Kodya woke up. No need for the huntsman to know about this problem… 

He downed the potion, grimacing at the taste. Ugh, he’d drunk many potions that weren’t as foul as the ones from Helgen; was it just some kind of military failing to be unable to produce even adequate-tasting brews? He tossed the empty phial away in disgust, wincing as it clattered against stone. A quick look at Kodya, however, revealed that the man had barely stirred, despite the racket. The huntsman must have been exhausted, to fall so quickly into such deep slumber.

He leaned against some piled rubble as he let the potion work for a few minutes. Tingling heat pooled within his legs, hips, and even his buttocks and back as the potion worked to repair the damage he’d caused by so badly overtaxing his body.

When the tingling had mostly subsided, he gingerly tested his legs, flexing and bending them before attempting to stand. He winced as his legs twinged; the pain hadn’t completely vanished, but it wasn’t disabling anymore. In fact, it was mostly gone – just some lingering soreness that could easily be ignored, or would possibly even vanish with stretching and movement. Either way, it would not be a hindrance for exploring the Barrow.

How long would Gyrus be waiting until he could wake Kodya? Sitting doing nothing for hours on end did _ not _appeal.

He shot a guilty glance at Kodya’s sleeping figure before creeping to the probable hole in the wall he’d noted before, halfway down the entry chamber and not far from the campsite. When he saw night sky stars where he expected them to be, he knew he’d been right about the collapsed wall. He took a few moments to examine the position of the stars, trying to figure out the approximate time. It didn’t take long for him to deduce that it was after midnight, but he couldn’t tell for quite how long. He felt fairly well-rested, too, so it had to be at least a couple hours after, if not more.

But he couldn’t stay long, because he didn’t want to risk something attacking his partner’s sleeping figure while he was distracted looking at stars. Not after Kodya had likely given himself the longer shift, letting Gyrus sleep more and himself less. Gyrus sighed and rubbed his eyes as he returned to the campsite, re-warming himself by the fire again. Beyond the fire’s reach, the ruin really was freezing cold.

He picked up the small box Kodya had given him curiously and opened it. Two flat stones, a rag, and a small bottle of oil: Gyrus would have to be brain-dead to not recognize what this was. He ran his finger over the two stones, feeling how abrasive each was, then grabbed his sword from the pile of his gear and set to putting the blade maintenance kit to good use. His poor blade definitely needed the attention, with small spots of discoloration from creeping rust and a chipped edge. He removed the discoloration with the oil and rag, then sharpened the edge of his sword with the two whetstones – the abrasive one first, to remove the small chinks and blemishes, and the second to polish. The iron was soft compared to other metals, and Gyrus could pick out some impurities in the metal, but it was a honed and serviceable blade now. He replaced his sword with his other gear and added more wood to the fire. He stared into the fire for a few minutes before becoming bored and sleepy. He needed something else to do.

Gyrus looked around for his journal, because writing in it was the only other thing he could think of to do in the quiet hours of watch. Ugh, why had he been so careless as to not pay attention to where he’d set it down? At least it didn’t take him long to find it, close to where he’d been sitting when he’d been talking with Kodya earlier. He checked the quill to make sure the nib was still good, then set to work.

He found himself continuing to chronicle the events of the past few days, writing by the light of the fire. Had it really only been two and a half days since Helgen? With everything that had happened, it felt like so much longer. He couldn’t tell how long it had been since he started writing, documenting his memories, thoughts, and feelings. Occasionally, he fed more wood to the fire, and when he found himself feeling peckish, he dug around in his pack for some hard bread and cheese to eat as a snack. He was glad he had quick-dry ink, so he didn’t need to worry about smearing the ink or waiting for it to dry before turning to the next page; he could write much more quickly.

He exhaled slowly as he finished, feeling better for venting his emotions. He shook out the cramp in his hand from writing for so long, then stood to stretch. He looked back toward the hole in the wall to check the time. He couldn’t see any stars from here, but he _ could _make out the faintest beginnings of predawn light filtering in. It was still at least an hour from dawn; he still had time to transcribe what he remembered of his notes from the Dwemer expedition and his personal project. He turned to a fresh page and started with his Dwemer research, furrowing his brow as he pummeled his memory for details. He transcribed what he could remember, but it seemed like he could only recall a fraction of what he’d originally had. Growling in frustration, he flipped further into the journal for new fresh pages and jumped to his family project. It felt like he had a little more success here; he’d looked at the remnants of the old formula so often he just about had them memorized, but he was certain he was forgetting some other observations he’d made over the years. Once he returned home, he would have to see if he could dig out any of his old research to add to what he could remember. And maybe check that he was remembering the original incomplete formula correctly; it couldn’t hurt.

Gyrus glanced at the hole in the wall again. Light was starting to stream in more heavily, just barely illuminating the entire entrance hall, which was slowly but steadily growing more visible. It wouldn’t be long before he could wake Kodya. Gyrus added one more log to the fire, noting that they were running low on wood. If they needed to use this camp again on the way out, they would need to go chop more firewood.

To finish his journaling before waking Kodya, Gyrus decided to make notes of the ruin he was currently in. He hadn’t seen much of the ruin yet, but there were doubtlessly people who would be interested in learning about the interior layout of Bleak Falls Barrow. Even if he was more interested in the Dwemer than the old Nords, Gyrus could see the appeal of delving into the rich history of half his ancestry.

Gyrus finally closed his journal and shook the tension from his hand. He’d almost completely depleted his supply of ink; he would need to get more soon. It was possible he could be waking Kodya a little late, at this point. He stowed his writing supplies safely in his pack, wrapped in clothes, and then knelt to wake the huntsman.

Kodya woke with a start, flailing for a moment before noticing it was just Gyrus. “Oh,” he said, his voice rough with sleep. “For a moment, I thought…” he shook his head. “Nevermind. Anything happen?”

“No, nothing,” Gyrus reported. “I spent most of the time writing in my journal. Oh, here’s your kit back.”

Kodya rubbed sleep out of his eyes as he pulled himself from the bedroll and accepted the small box. “Right,” he yawned as he grabbed his armor to put on. Then, suddenly stiffening, he whirled around and asked, holding up the blade kit, “You didn’t break anything in this, did you? Did you even know how to use it?”

“Of course I did!” Gyrus replied snappily, offended. “I’m the son of a blacksmith; of course I know how to maintain a blade!”

“Oh. Okay,” Kodya replied, seeming a little chastened. As the kit vanished into his pocket stone, which he hadn’t removed, he asked, “You feeling alright? Think we should have something to eat before heading into the ruin?” He shook his head. “Gods, if that isn’t a thought to wake a man up,” he muttered.

“Something light, so we’re alert,” Gyrus said thoughtfully. “And yes, I’m feeling well enough to go to the ruins.” No need to mention the healing potion he’d needed. 

“Right then,” Kodya said as he rolled up his bedroll, much more efficiently than Gyrus had managed. Gyrus tossed his to Kodya, and both vanished into the pocket stone. In their place, two apples, some jerky, and some hard bread appeared. Kodya handed one of the apples and half of the jerky and bread to Gyrus. 

“Eat quickly,” he advised. “I don’t want to linger longer than necessary.”

Gyrus bit into his apple as Kodya started in on his jerky. The huntsman also kicked at the ashes of the fire, working to smother it.

“You’re very efficient with this,” Gyrus observed between bites.

“I’ve had practice,” Kodya replied, downing his breakfast in big gulps. He looked around the campsite, eyes narrowed, until he spotted what he was looking for. Kodya grabbed the small bucket and moved behind the pillar, out of his companion’s sight.

“I’m going to need to use that after you!” Gyrus called. He busied himself finishing the job of tamping down the fire. Once Kodya reappeared, Gyrus hurried behind the pillar to relieve himself.

Kodya, meanwhile, checked over the campsite to make sure they hadn’t left anything behind. He frowned at the apple core he was carrying – how to avoid attracting skeevers towards the front chamber if they needed to reuse it… 

“Done eating?” he called.

“Yeah,” Gyrus replied, reappearing shortly. “What?”

“Apple core?” Once Gyrus had handed over his, Kodya walked over to the hole in the wall and threw the apple cores through, as hard as he could. “Getting rid of skeever bait,” he explained at the questioning look he was receiving from the kid. “Now, I just need to string my bow, and we can head in.”

Gyrus shifted side to side uneasily as he waited for the huntsman to check and restring his bow. He rested a hand on his sword for reassurance. “Are we ready?” he asked, a few pitches too high, once it seemed Kodya was ready.

“I am,” Kodya replied, fully alert. “Are you?”

Gyrus nodded, fighting his suddenly active nerves. He’d gotten used to being in the empty entry chamber, but further in… who knew what they’d face. He uneasily eyed the rounded doorway that led further into the ruins near the campsite, which he’d been steadfastly ignoring the whole time.

“Now then, there’s no use dawdling, so… shall we head in?” Kodya prodded.

Gyrus inhaled deeply. “Yeah,” he said, nodding.

It was time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to leave a kudos and/or review if you enjoyed!
> 
> Sovngarde - the highest-regarded Nord afterlife, reserved for warriors who died in battle


	9. Bleak Falls Barrow

Both of them felt safer with their weapons drawn and ready as they crossed the threshold of the doorway leading deeper into the ruins. As they’d discussed, Gyrus led, with Kodya following. Torchlight at the bottom of the staircase they descended made it easy to avoid slipping on the steps, though it was worrisome, because _ someone _ had to have lit the torch within the past few hours. Near the bottom, Gyrus frowned and hesitated as he noticed a few thin layers of cobwebs over the arches leading to a hallway.

“Something wrong?” Kodya asked quietly.

“Spiderwebs,” Gyrus replied, breaking through the webs easily by swinging his free arm through them.

Kodya frowned. “It wouldn’t be strange for spiders to live in a place like this.”

“Could mean frostbite spiders, too,” Gyrus pointed out. While the webs had a similar form to those woven by juvenile frostbite spiders, there were several other less dangerous species that could craft similar webs, and he couldn’t see any indication of which kind of spider had made them.

“Ugh,” Kodya groaned, shuddering. “I _ hate _ those.”

Gyrus raised an eyebrow. “Had a bad experience with them?”

“Who _ hasn’t_?” Kodya rebutted. Gyrus had to concede the point.

Gyrus peered around the corner of the hallway once they’d made it to the end. Nothing but a couple burial urns on small altars. The torchlight came from a lit bowl-shaped brazier anchored to a pedestal. Even from paces away, Gyrus could see the old enchantment etched into the metal that was keeping the smokeless fire alive.

“You know, cremations seem more common among ancient Nords than today. I wonder if they wanted to prevent themselves from becoming draugr?” Gyrus mused softly as he cautiously advanced. “I mean, there are restless dead from all ages, but draugr of ancient Nords do seem more common… maybe it was easier to become a draugr back then.”

“Great. That means there’s probably more of them wandering around this place than your average modern Hall of the Dead,” Kodya muttered before dubiously eyeing the cracked ceiling. “…This passage can’t be safe.”

“At least it’s not a dead end,” Gyrus offered, gingerly stepping over tree roots invading the ruin and avoiding the remnants of an old collapse one one side of an intersecting hallway. “We’d have to go back outside and scour the mountain, looking for another way in.” Despite occasional dirt falls, the passage seemed safe enough. Not on the brink of a collapse, at any rate. Gyrus may not have been in the mines of his hometown anywhere near as often as any of the regular miners, but he still knew enough to be certain they were safe – from tunnel collapse, at least. It was reassuring that the undead-sensing amulets hadn’t reacted yet.

They continued down another stairwell, careful to keep from tripping on old roots and vines. At a fork in the path, one of the forks led to another cave-in, so they continued ahead down the other fork.

“A lot of cave-ins… I hope the ceiling doesn’t come down on our heads,” Kodya muttered apprehensively. 

Gyrus frowned as he peered at the latest collapse they’d passed, squinting through the gloom. Intermittent braziers provided just enough light to see by, and the two of them were less likely to be noticed without Gyrus’s candlelight spell, but Gyrus still longed to cast it to see better.

“Some of this damage… I don’t think it’s just from time,” he observed. “Remember the stories of jarls’ armies trying to clear this place out and bring it down? Some of this is _ battle damage_.”

“That’s still not entirely reassuring,” Kodya grumbled. “Wait, kid, stop for a second.”

“What is it?”

“This dead skeever, here.”

“Uh… is there anything special about a dead skeever?”

“For the flesh to be this intact in a Nordic tomb? It was killed recently, within a couple days,” Kodya pointed out.

“Maybe a draugr got it?” Gyrus suggested.

“Or, the bandits came down here, too,” Kodya noted darkly. “Skeevers are more interested in living creatures than dead ones. Or at least, long dead ones.”

“If the bandits came down here… where are they?” Gyrus wondered.

“Well, either they got smart and retreated back to the surface, where we killed them last night… or there are still some bandits down here. Probably dead, but if any survived, they would have _ stayed _down here the whole night, for some reason,” Kodya concluded, frowning. “We need to be careful. A living but desperate man is just as dangerous as an undead one.”

Gyrus grimaced at the prospect of fighting _ more _ bandits. “Let’s hope we don’t run into any, then. Don’t need _ more _ to worry about.” He distracted himself by trying to calculate approximately how far from the surface they’d descended as they went down another staircase. They passed more burial urns and an altar set into a small alcove in the hall. Gyrus slowed as he passed the set of shelves next to the altar, which held a few ancient Nord embalming tools and wraps, tarnished and frayed by time. Gyrus longed to stop and make notes, but they had to keep moving.

Before they continued on, however, a green-tarnished glass phial on the bookshelf caught his attention. He snagged it, considering. He knew that some phials carried enchantments to keep their contents from going bad for long periods of time. Certain kinds of brews never went bad at all. Maybe he could learn from this, or it could even possibly be useful…?

A pale hand snatched the phial from him. “What you’re thinking is plain as day on your face,” the huntsman growled. “No, you’re not going to drink a potion that’s been on that shelf for who knows _ how _long, for research purposes or otherwise.” He set the phial back on the shelf resolutely and prodded Gyrus forward.

“I wasn’t going to drink it…” Gyrus pouted. 

Kodya rolled his eyes. How had this kid even survived to adulthood? And just how oblivious did he think Kodya was?

They continued through the ruins. There seemed to be only one path forward; all other routes had been destroyed. Now that the kid had pointed it out, Kodya could see faint battle scars from long ago on the walls. These battles could possibly be why they hadn’t run into any draugr yet, either – they’d been driven out or wiped out of these areas. But that was no reason to get cocky, because if the jarls’ armies _ failed _ then that meant there were still draugr lurking somewhere.

They passed through a winding, heavily damaged area. Kodya nervously eyed the areas of cave-in and made sure to keep his steps soft and light. After descending yet another staircase, they emerged into a well-lit, open chamber. Gyrus stopped, and Kodya peered around him to see what he was looking at. 

“Oh,” Kodya said. “Guess we found how far the bandits got.”

Sprawled near a lever, clearly dead, was a bandit. Beyond the bandit was a gateway blocked by a portcullis.

_ If the lever opens the gate, then why is the gate closed and this man dead? _Kodya wondered, kneeling by the body to examine it. It took him barely a moment to notice that several darts were pricking the dead bandit’s skin. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gyrus obliviously moving to pull the lever, and his hand shot out and clamped around Gyrus’s wrist to keep him from pulling it and, undoubtedly, triggering the trap. Why else would a man who died from poison darts have fallen by the lever?

“It’s a trap,” Kodya blurted, a little shaken by how close Gyrus had come to pulling the trapped lever. “If you pull the lever, you get killed by poison darts.” Kodya marveled, for a moment, that the darts could even contain a poison potent enough to kill a man after so many years.

“Oh,” Gyrus gasped, snatching his hand away from the lever. “I’m glad you stopped me.”

Kodya ran a sweaty hand through his hair. “Me too. But how are we supposed to open that gate if the mechanism is trapped?” Shit, would they be stymied here and unable to complete their mission? Well, it was possible there was another entrance, but it could take _ weeks _ to find.

“If this entrance is trapped, then it’s possible we’re not meant to go this way. And since this is the only way we _ could _ go… we’d have to find another entrance into the ruins,” Gyrus pondered aloud, mirroring Kodya’s thoughts. “Unless… it’s not a trap, but a _ test_.”

“What do you mean?” Kodya prodded, narrowing his eyes at the kid.

“I’ve read that the ancient Nords sometimes had tests of worthiness in their burial chambers and ruins,” Gyrus elaborated. “If this site used to hold an entire town’s worth of people, there had to be some way to keep common people away from more important areas. Either that, or this was installed later to keep unworthy intruders away from the burial chambers…” The kid was silent for a moment, deep in thought. “My guess would be that old fighting blocked off a lot of the side chambers. Places where people used to live, dining halls. So this should be a real path forward…”

“Is there a point to this?” Kodya pressed. The areas that were out of their reach were of no use now.

“If this is a test of some kind, there’s got to be a way of opening the gate safely,” Gyrus declared. “There will be some hint, maybe even in the vicinity, of how to open the gate. Maybe this lever is a decoy mechanism, or there’s some sort of puzzle you need to solve before opening the door…”

Now this, Kodya could use. “So we look around the room for anything useful?” he asked. He quickly looked around the room. At first glance, there was nothing interesting: some short pillars in alcoves on one side, and some stairs leading up to a narrow ledge with some carved reliefs, one of which had broken off and fallen to the first floor.

“Yeah. Either that, or something that stands out as unusual. It could be a hint of some kind,” Gyrus affirmed.

“I’ll take the upper floor,” Kodya volunteered. No need to risk the kid tripping and falling off of it.

Gyrus nodded and made a bee-line for the pillars, about the only interesting feature on the first floor. Kodya climbed to the second floor and edged around the face reliefs. There wasn’t anything up here, aside from an empty shelf. Kodya frowned; he wasn’t sure what he was looking for. Maybe there was something hidden behind the shelf…?

Below, Kodya heard Gyrus gasp in delight before he called, “I think I found something!”

_ Of course he did_, Kodya internally sighed. He eyed the distance to the first floor; it wasn’t that far down… He dropped to sit on the edge of the ledge, then pushed off with his hands and landed lightly on his feet. Gyrus was slightly bent over the pillars, paying no attention to him.

He announced his presence by asking, “So what did you find?”

“These three pillars rotate,” Gyrus revealed, demonstrating by pushing the pillar to rotate with a soft scrape of metal.

Kodya raised an eyebrow. “And this is important because…?”

“There’s some sort of mechanism beneath these; I can hear it working when the pillars spin. There’s an arrow pointing to only the face of the pillar that’s facing out; I checked around the base. In addition, each face on the pillars has a different carving of a totem animal – some of the ones important to the old Nords. I bet, if we get these in the right order, the door opens. Or the trap is disabled and the lever is safe to use,” Gyrus explained.

Kodya raised an eyebrow. Impressive. “So what’s the right order?”

Gyrus’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “If this is a test, the combination should be hidden somewhere nearby…”

“Like, the order of animals the pillars are supposed to show?” Kodya asked to confirm.

“Yeah. It could be small…”

“Maybe the carved faces on the wall?” Kodya suggested, eyeing them. He hadn’t been paying much attention to them when he’d walked past, but now that he was looking, he could see animal-like shapes carved onto the tongues of each of the reliefs.

“Oh, yes!” Gyrus lit up as he noticed the carvings. “Let’s see, according to the order, the first pillar should be a serpent and the third a whale…”

“The one that fell down is also a serpent,” Kodya added helpfully as Gyrus got to work rotating the pillars to the correct faces.

“It makes sense the combination would be hidden on the tongues of the reliefs, you know?” Gyrus chatted absently as he adjusted the pillars. “The Tongues have been important to Nords for millennia. A wind and a will to carve a path with a Voice. It’s said that even Nords who aren’t Tongues can naturally enhance their words with their will, because we’re blessed by the wind. Though I haven’t seen it happen personally…”

It took Kodya a moment to realize that Gyrus was referring to the capital letter Tongues and Voice. He wouldn’t have even thought to pay attention to the symbolism of the carvings. He racked his brain trying to dig up dusty memories of childhood stories and legends. 

“Tongues… the people who can use the Voice to turn their words into powerful magic?” he recalled uncertainly. It had been _ years _ since he’d paid much thought to the old Nordic myths he’d been told as a child. 

“Yeah,” Gyrus confirmed, turning to grin at him. “Not too many of them out there anymore. Of course, there are a few who still have learned in the old clans, and the Greybeards up at High Hrothgar…” His smile faded. “We could sure use some Tongues to help protect Skyrim now.”

Kodya fished another associated legend from his memory. “You think there could be a Dragonborn somewhere?” If Kodya was remembering correctly, a Dragonborn was a rare person who could naturally use the Voice, unlike other Tongues, who needed to rigorously study the art before they could wield it.

“According to legend, all Imperial Emperors are said to have been Dragonborn. At least, until the Oblivion Crisis a few centuries ago. But not all Dragonborn belonged to the Septim Dynasty, so who knows if there are any Dragonborn now?” Gyrus recounted, turning to face Kodya since he’d finished aligning the pillars. But the gate remained closed, so it was likely they would need to pull the lever to open it.

“We could sure use one now,” Kodya voiced, echoing what Gyrus had said earlier.

“Yeah,” Gyrus concurred gravely, rubbing the back of his head. “But we can do our part. Here’s hoping I did this right… It’s my solution, so I should be the one to see if it’s right or not.”

Damn kid, chancing death on some strange sense of honor. “Wait,” Kodya demanded, catching Gyrus before he could get to the lever. He could at least improve the kid’s odds. “I have a rope in my pocket stone.” He pulled it out and held it out to Gyrus. “Tie it to the lever, so if you aren’t right, at least you may be out of the trap’s range.”

Gyrus took the rope. “Thank you,” he said sincerely, his eyes shining with gratitude. Kodya looked away uncomfortably. Blast, but the kid shouldn’t be so grateful when Kodya could be sending him to his death. _ He _wasn’t volunteering to put his neck on the line, after all… 

Kodya retreated to just outside the chamber while Gyrus knotted the rope around the lever and stepped back as far as the rope would allow, almost four paces. Kodya watched as Gyrus took a deep breath and then, bravely, pulled the lever.

Without any extra fanfare, the portcullis opened with a metallic _ clank_. Gyrus had figured out the puzzle correctly.

_ Damn, he’s not completely useless down here after all_, Kodya thought a little wonderingly as he watched Gyrus slump in relief.

“I was right,” he gasped as he shakily slid the rope from the lever and handed it back to Kodya.

Kodya thumped him on the back. “Not bad, kid.” He had to admit it. But he rolled his eyes as Gyrus perked up from the compliment like a parched flower being watered. He really was a kid, to be pleased with such a meagre compliment.

They cautiously advanced into a smaller chamber with a lower ceiling. Light from the previous chamber spilled into this one, illuminating a small area, but it was otherwise dark. Before the kid could think to cast his fancy light spell again, Kodya withdrew two torches from his inventory and held out one to the kid.

“Light these?” he requested. Call him traditional, but he preferred firelight to the unnatural spelled white light.

Gyrus acquiesced, conjuring the barest of flames to light the torches. Kodya held his torch high, examining the space.

Another altar and burial urn was ahead of them, and two support pillars stood to their left, leading to what looked like another stairwell. But this one wasn’t a straight staircase made of stone, like all the other ones. Kodya dubiously eyed the wood that formed the spiral staircase leading down a vertical shaft. It looked old and cracked, maybe even partially rotted. If it had been built at the same time as the rest of the ruin – or even if it had been built later by the invading warriors trying to clear out the draugr – there was almost no way it could safely handle the weight of an adult human male, let alone two.

Which, of course, meant that the kid had to charge on ahead and stand on the top steps, not even testing them before putting his weight on them. They creaked alarmingly, but miraculously held.

“Looks like down here is the only way forward,” he insisted defensively, as if he knew the huntsman would protest his actions, and carefully descended one step at a time. Like that excused his carelessness, ugh. Kodya cautiously and reluctantly followed him down the staircase, carefully testing each step to make sure it could hold his weight and keeping close to the central pole.

Gyrus was a number of steps further ahead when he suddenly _ shrieked_. Throwing caution to the wind, Kodya hastened his descent, hand on his dagger in case he needed to fight. Archery wouldn’t do much good on this stairwell, and one of his hands was occupied anyway.

The only warning he received before the _ entire stairwell _ collapsed was the snarling squeaks of a hoard of skeevers and the sound of Gyrus casting his fire spell as powerfully as he could manage. Flames licked up the central shaft, eating through the dry, half-rotted wood with frightening speed, and then Kodya was falling. He barely had a moment to panic and flail, let alone think or react, before he hit the bottom of the shaft hard, butt-first, to the sounds of splintering wood and a bunch of alarmingly fleshy squishes. He threw his arms protectively above his head as a few splintered steps fell on him. Then it was quiet.

_ Holy fuck, I’m alive_, was his first thought. _ That wasn’t too far of a fall _ was his second. His third was, _ I retract my previous thought. He’s useless_, Kodya thought sourly, groaning as pain lanced from his butt up his spine. At least he hadn’t been impaled with any wood when he landed. Though from the feel of it, his hide armor was protecting him from terrible splinters.

There was a groan from the other side of the shaft before Gyrus emerged from under a pile of wood. “Ow,” he moaned. 

Kodya was incensed. “You _ idiot_, what made you think casting a fire spell on rotting wooden stairs was a good idea? We’re _ both _lucky it wasn’t a long fall! And furthermore—”

Gyrus tuned out the sound of his partner’s rant, grimacing. He didn’t need to be raked over the coals to know that they were extremely lucky to have survived. It had barely been a single-story drop – maybe more for Kodya; he’d been a bit further up than Gyrus – and there had been a skeever nest at the bottom of the shaft, full of squishy bodies that had cushioned their fall. Not that falling on skeevers was a great way to kill them. He’d just reacted reflexively when the first skeever had attacked him. Not that the sight of a wolf-sized, disease-ridden rodent lunging at him was any good excuse for almost getting them killed… 

He blearily looked toward the light coming from the doorway, partially blocked by debris. With all the racket they’d no doubt made, it was a wonder nothing else had come running to attack them. But, for the time being, they seemed to be alone. He slowly moved his limbs, testing if he’d broken anything. Thankfully, aside from some minor scratches and aches that would no doubt blossom into lovely, colorful bruises later, nothing seemed broken or torn.

“Are you listening to me?” Kodya demanded.

“No,” Gyrus admitted bluntly as he slowly, painstakingly climbed to his feet, balancing on the pile of wood and skeever bodies. “Are you hurt?”

“Ugh,” Kodya groaned in disgust. “I swear, if your stupidity gets me killed, my earlier threat to kill you in the afterlife still stands.”

“Right, right,” Gyrus muttered as he gingerly picked his way across the debris to the doorway. “Are you hurt?” he repeated.

“Not badly. Just scrapes and bruises, I think,” Kodya reluctantly replied as he started to climb to his feet. “I need to check my bow, too.” Thankfully, it still appeared to be slung to the huntsman’s back, though there was no telling if it had suffered damage. Gyrus’s sword, at least, was both protected in a sheath and less fragile.

“Uh…” Gyrus began as he noticed a sudden problem, after stumbling through the debris-cluttered doorway into the next room and then turning around. Two new problems were quickly made evident; however, one of them was more immediately pressing. “You might want to get out here quickly; I think the fire from my spell and the dropped torches is starting to spread…”

Kodya swore loudly and with feeling, scrambling to get to the next chamber as he also noticed the fire starting to catch. Gyrus caught him as he stumbled through the door. At least they would be mostly safe from smoke asphyxiation in these lower tunnels – most of the smoke would be carried back up the shaft.

“Fuck,” the archer snarled, trembling before his legs steadied. Gyrus could tell the man was forcibly shunting his pain aside. His eyes tightened as he glanced around the chamber they’d emerged in. It was small, with no creatures trying to kill them or items of interest, aside from an old, fragile scroll on a table in the center that Gyrus wanted to get a look at… and decor that hinted at the second problem. 

“Shor’s bones, where did all these spider webs come from?” Kodya demanded a pitch higher than normal as he whipped out his bow, almost seeming ready to use it before remembering he needed to examine it for damage.

“I think it’s very likely at this point there are some frostbite spiders roaming around here,” Gyrus ruefully concluded as he examined the webs. Aside from large sheets of cobwebs, a couple of funnel webs, big enough to span from floor to ceiling and thankfully unoccupied, all but _ screamed _the presence of frostbite spiders somewhere.

“I hate those Oblivion-damned things,” Kodya growled, scowling at his bow.

“Is it broken?” Gyrus asked hesitantly. If he’d inadvertently broken the huntsman’s best weapon… 

“Just the string,” Kodya answered. A slim, long box appeared in one hand, which he held out to Gyrus. “Do something other than just standing around uselessly and hold this. And _ don’t _drop, shake, or tilt it, or I swear I’ll hamstring you.”

“Right,” Gyrus complied meekly, doing as instructed. It was the least he could do, after dropping them both on a bunch of skeevers and understandably igniting the man’s fury. 

Kodya opened the box he was holding, which turned out to be a bow maintenance kit, containing extra strings, a small container of wax, a soft rag, and a phial of some kind of oil. Kodya took the rag and oil first to polish the sealing varnish, which looked like it had been scuffed in the fall. Thankfully, none of the damage had extended to the wood. As the huntsman worked – merely a couple minutes for a patch job; no telling what danger could show up if Kodya spent too long fixing his bow – Gyrus kept still and enjoyed the earthy smell of the oil he was using, a nice contrast to the smells of decay, smoldering wood, and diseased flesh from the chamber and the shaft behind them. After replacing the wood and oil to the kit and removing and discarding the broken string, snapped cleanly in two, Kodya withdrew a new string, which looked like it had already been fitted to the bow beforehand. Finally, he slathered the string with a thin coat of wax. It was good that Kodya was almost finished patching up his bow, because Gyrus was starting to get distracted. Just on the edge of his hearing, barely audible, he could hear what almost sounded like… someone calling for help.

“Done,” Kodya announced, breaking the quiet and drowning out whatever Gyrus had heard. He tested the bowstring, taking care to not accidentally dry-fire. “It’ll do,” he sighed.

“Should we head on, then?” Gyrus asked as he handed the maintenance kit back to Kodya.

“Yes,” he growled as the maintenance kit disappeared and he drew an arrow from his quiver in readiness. “If there are frostbite spiders in the vicinity, I do _ not _want to stick around.”

Gyrus nodded and headed for the table he’d seen the old scroll on. “Me neither. I just need a minute to…” He barely brushed the old scroll with a finger when it disintegrated. “…never mind,” Gyrus concluded glumly. Damn it, he hadn’t realized the scroll had been _ that _ fragile. What precious historical record had he just inadvertently destroyed?

Gyrus could almost _ hear _ Kodya rolling his eyes. “Come on, kid,” he irritably cajoled. “We’re not here to unravel the secrets of the past or whatever. _ Particularly _not in frostbite territory.”

“Right,” Gyrus conceded, letting Kodya tug him away and then push him in front. He shook his head. A Nordic ruin was no place to get preoccupied, especially one infested with spiders.

They cautiously continued through the ruin, into another passageway. Gyrus had to break through several thin sheets of webs to continue forward. They began to notice a handful of baby frostbite spiders, no bigger than a coin, crawling on the webs. Whenever Kodya had the chance, he made sure to viciously squash them with his boot.

They hadn’t traveled for long, it seemed like, when Gyrus frowned. There it was again – that sound, like a cry for help. But who else could be down here? The bandits had been stymied by the dart-trapped gate. 

_ Unless the gate resets itself after some period of time_, Gyrus thought. What kind of mechanism, magic or mechanical, could do that?

Though it was possible he was just hearing things.

“Hey, do you hear that?” he asked to check.

“Hear what?” Kodya questioned tensely from behind him.

“It sounds like there’s someone calling for help.” It sounded stupid when he said it aloud, but even so, he heard the voice again, louder.

“That’s impossible.”

Gyrus frowned, because now he was also picking up hints of fresh air with his nose, and the cries for help were getting louder. “It’s not completely impossible.”

“How could anyone be down here in this spider-infested hellhole?” Kodya dismissed derisively. Gyrus glanced back and saw that the huntsman was scowling as he looked back and forth at all the webs clinging to the walls and corners.

Two paces forward later, and Gyrus heard the huntsman mutter behind him, “What in the name of…?”

“You hear it now too?”

“Yeah. How in Oblivion…?”

Not much later, they found themselves standing in front of an entryway covered by a layer of webs thick enough that Gyrus had to pull out his sword to hack through them. The pleas for help, from a thin masculine voice, were now clearly audible. Natural light and fresh air streamed from somewhere above in the next chamber, though to Gyrus, the fresh air seemed ever so slightly tainted with something… foul.

Gyrus scowled as he picked sticky webbing off his blade. He couldn’t afford to have a blunted edge, or to ruin the temper of the blade by burning the webbing off. He peered through the gap he’d carved, then grimaced and swore.

“What is it?” Kodya hissed. 

“I think we found the nest,” he murmured.

“What?!”

“Well, there’s a lot more webs and there are a few frostbite egg cocoons too. A few dead ones, too, which I’m not sure about…”

Kodya moaned. “Seriously?” he whimpered. “Is the _ only _way forward through the middle of a frostbite spider nest…? Just think of how many of them there could be!”

“Well, there are some that are already dead, and frostbite spiders aren’t that hard to kill if you can avoid their venom.” Gyrus looked back at his companion. The man was pale and sweaty, even almost ready to faint. The normally stoic Kodya looked terrified. “Are you… scared of them?”

“No!” Kodya snapped, shaking his head vehemently. “I just have a _ healthy dislike _for them, like everyone should!”

Gyrus raised an eyebrow. “If you say so,” he responded, unconvinced. “So you’ll have my back when I go in and fight them in a few moments.”

Kodya looked almost ready to throw up as he withdrew two more arrows from his quiver, but nodded.

“Good.” Without another word, Gyrus called fire to his hand in readiness and slipped through the webbing gap into the nest. Prepared to be attacked at any moment, Gyrus quickly scanned the area. Handfuls of eggs bulged grotesquely from the walls, while webbing covered almost everything except patches of floor. At the other end of the room, Gyrus made note of the living man, whose cries he and Kodya had heard, weakly struggling in a cocoon of silk, as well as a large, circular metal grating on the floor that stood out from the surrounding flagstone. A few desiccated human-shaped bodies, as well as a number of skeever-shaped sacs, were scattered on the floor or hung from the ceiling. There were a few recently-dead, dog-sized spiders, too, but aside from a few baby-sized ones scurrying around, no live threats.

At least, no live ones that Gyrus could see.

“Above you!” the captured man shrieked. Gyrus barely managed to dive out of the way in time as something sailed past his ear, and he saw, to his horror, the _ largest _frostbite spider he’d ever seen in his life drop from a hole in the ceiling to land above the metal grate. The loud scream from Kodya behind him was noticed almost as an afterthought.

_ I guess the stories of frostbite spiders bigger than bears are true_, Gyrus thought hysterically as he frantically lunged at the grotesque beast. If he could keep the thing occupied trying to bite him instead of spitting venom, they could have a chance. Venom from a spider of _ this _size could no doubt paralyze one’s whole body if hit.

Thankfully, fire seemed to work as well on this massive spider as on its smaller brethren. Arrows from behind him sprouted from its head and legs, though a few bounced off its armored thorax. Gyrus wildly slashed with his sword while relentlessly maintaining the stream of fire, cutting anything he could hit – legs, the fangs, the belly when it reared up – _ shit, dodge, don’t get crushed! _

Gyrus desperately lunged to the side but wasn’t fast enough. The spider’s fangs clamped into his magic arm, and he howled in agony as his fire sputtered out and venom pumped into his veins. Pressed against the spider’s side, he had no chance to escape. As his vision blurred, just moments before his body fell dead and still, he hazily noticed a massive crack in the spider’s thorax, a fairly recent wound if the dried blood was anything to go by. With a massive effort of will, he plunged his sword deep into the spider’s innards. The last he knew was the spider flinging him by his ruined arm into the wall. He blacked out as soon as he collided with it.

* * *

_ Darkness. _

“—et me down, get me d—”

“—can wait; he needs help now—”

_ Ice in his veins. _

“—on’t leave m—”

_ Cool hands on his skin. _

“—come on, kid, don’t you dare be dead from a damned sp—”

“—ell you about the claw if you co—”

_ Movement. _

“—a minute!”

_ Liquid on an arm. Gold creeping up his veins. _

“—never get the claw if you don’t—”

“—said _ wait_, you heartless—”

_ Blink. White. A person. _

“—ocus on getting this down.”

_ Liquid on his lips. Gold shining brighter in his veins, drawing out the ice. Restoration _—

Gyrus blinked woozily. It took him a moment to place where he was, and what had happened. The massive frostbite spider. What a nasty thing. Was he still in the spider nest?

“C’mon, kid, drink this down,” the low voice of Kodya soothed above him. Oh, there was glass at his lips, something to drink. He could do that. Gyrus focused on pulling down the thick liquid in little sips. Each sips carried energy and wellness with it, knitting him back together until—

“Oh,” he rasped hoarsely. His body felt battered and somewhat numb, but it was his arm he was most worried about. A spider that size…? There had to be damage, but he didn’t have the strength to look down. “How bad is it?” Kynareth, his arm… 

Instead of an answer, he felt Kodya sigh in relief. “You’ll be alright, kid. Just take it easy and let the potions work.”

“Potions?” Gyrus asked, trying to move his head to look at the other man.

“Yeah. An anti-venom and a healing potion. The bite itself wouldn’t have knocked you out but you hit the wall pretty hard,” Kodya explained. 

“Oh,” Gyrus mumbled numbly. “Did I almost die?” He finally managed to turn his head enough to look at the huntsman’s face.

Kodya shook his head, even though worry sparked in his eyes. “Probably not. The bite wasn’t big enough to kill from blood loss, and there’s not enough venom in only one bite to paralyze your lungs and heart. I imagine you had a pretty bad concussion from the wall, too.”

Gyrus groaned. “Why can’t I move, then?”

“The anti-venom works more slowly than the healing potion,” Kodya revealed.

“How long was I out?”

“Not too long, just a few minutes.”

Gyrus opened his mouth to ask another question when he was interrupted. “Touching, touching,” an irritated voice interjected. “I forgot my tears back home. Now, will you _ please _get me down from here?”

“Who’s that?” Gyrus asked.

Kodya sighed irritably. “The man – well, elf – that we saved. Arvel the Swift. Probably another bandit. He says he has some sort of important artifact for the ruins,” he tacked on in a lower tone of voice.

Gyrus grimaced as pins and needles started creeping into his limbs. “Feeling’s starting to come back,” he reported. Ugh, it felt like his nerves were crawling. His fingers started twitching. “My arm, will I be able to use it to fight?” He still couldn’t see it.

“Should be, the potion I gave you was potent enough to close the wounds. Now be patient.”

Gyrus groaned. Even with someone to defend him, being unable to move in the midst of a frostbite spider nest did not appeal. “Are there any other spiders?”

“No, none, other than the big one. Hold _ still! _”

“No,” Gyrus retorted petulantly, forcing his body to try to cooperate. It was attempting to do so very, very clumsily. He was finally able to flop his injured left arm up where he could see it.

Gyrus could barely see any trace of the wounds that must have been inflicted. The arm looked a little frail, but functional. He would have to find out once the anti-venom finished working. In the meantime, he tried to tackle a new challenge: standing. A bit ambitious, but the sooner he could move, the sooner they could leave. Kodya steadied him as his limbs tried to remind themselves how to work. After a moment, Gyrus flailed in the wrong direction and brought both himself _ and _Kodya to the ground.

“I give the entertainment zero of three stars,” Arvel interjected. “If the two-part comedy act would _ get itself over here and cut me down_.”

“I can’t do it,” Gyrus admitted as he struggled to his knees.

“You’d cut _ me _instead of the webbing, and besides, your sword is still stuck in the spider’s hide anyway,” Arvel admonished. “No, your companion has some perfectly usable knives.”

Gyrus had stopped listening when Arvel mentioned where his sword was. His eyes landed on the carcass of the massive frostbite spider. Even dead, its size was still breathtaking. It must have been living undisturbed in the ruins for decades, maybe even up to a century, to reach such a size. Gyrus was just glad it had been brought down. He stubbornly staggered over to the corpse, each passing moment returning coordination to his body, and located his sword, buried deep in the creature’s hide. He tuned out the petty bickering and insults thrown back and forth by concentrating on wrapping his fingers around the blade and, with a heave, pulling it from the spider. Oh course, he wound up falling on his butt afterwards, unable to balance, but at least his blade was free.

_ Who would believe that just an ordinary iron sword helped kill a creature like this? _ he marveled. He wiped the milky blue spider blood off on its abdomen as best he could. _ I’ll need to do some maintenance on this poor thing when I get the chance. _

“Argh!” Kodya shouted, seizing Gyrus’s attention and worry for an instant before the huntsman continued, “_Why are there no other exits to this damned nest! _”

Arvel laughed mockingly. “You see? You have to cut me down if you want to get further into the ruins, s’wit!”

Gyrus sheathed his sword and stood on legs that were gradually steadying. He hobbled over to the elf – a Dunmer? – who was stuck to the wall.

“Hello,” he greeted conversationally.

“Greetings, human,” the elf replied, in a much politer tone of voice than he’d been using with Kodya. “Do you think you could convince your friend to cut me down? I understand you’ve been… preoccupied, and would prefer someone with steady hands to do the job.”

Gyrus nodded. “It must have been rough, trapped with the spider. I can try to convince him, but if you have any useful information about this ruin, it would likely go smoother.”

“Oh, you must want to know about the golden claw! Yes, I know how it works. The claw, the markings, the door in the Hall of Stories. I know how they all fit together! Help me down, and I’ll show you. You won’t _ believe _the power the Nords have hidden there.”

“Well then,” Kodya interjected, coming up behind Gyrus. “If it’s so important for this place, hand over the claw first, and then I’ll cut you down.”

“Does it look like I can move, s’wit? You have to cut me down, first,” Arvel snapped, wiggling uselessly for emphasis.

Kodya scowled, but Gyrus beat him to the punch. “He’ll cut you down,” Gyrus assured quickly. “We can’t get further than this without doing so anyway.” He gave a pointed look to Kodya.

“Fine. Let me see if I can cut you down,” Kodya grumbled, extracting one of his knives from his belt.

“Sweet breath of Arkay, _ finally_. Thank you.”

As Kodya sawed at the spiderweb, Gyrus flexed his left arm and hand to check how it was feeling. Most of the numbness in his body was gone, though he was still slightly shaky. His hand felt a little weak, but it wasn’t bad. It would likely regain strength quickly as he used it.

“It’s coming loose, I can feel it!” Arvel exclaimed.

Still waiting, Gyrus turned to the hole in the ceiling, where the spider had dropped from and where sunlight was pouring it. He didn’t have enough information to know exactly what time of day it was, but it wasn’t near sunset or night – either still morning or afternoon, though he thought they’d been underground longer. Being underground, he knew, could really mess with one’s sense of time.

Gyrus turned around when he heard a pair of boots hit the ground. Arvel was free, and behind him was another passage, lit by more enchanted braziers. He blinked at Arvel, waiting for him to thank them, or talk about the “golden claw” he’d mentioned, or something.

He did _ not _expect the Dunmer to turn around and bolt.

“Hey!” Kodya yelped, reacting quickly and giving chase.

Gyrus tried to jog after them, still not completely steady on his feet. “You said you’d help us!” he yelled down the passage.

“You fool, why should I share the treasure with anyone?” floated back tauntingly to him through the tunnels. Gyrus grit his teeth, trying to ignore the irrational feeling of betrayal – Kodya had mentioned the man was a bandit – and pursued as best he could manage.

Cobwebs were quickly left behind. Gyrus wasn’t sure how far he’d fallen behind the other two when he emerged into what looked like a mostly empty storeroom, with two doors and an open doorway. Reasoning that they would follow the less impeded path, Gyrus left through the doorway. He stumbled and fell against the wall when he felt a sudden heat on his breast. He pulled out the amulet, which was softly glowing and growing brighter. “Shit,” he hissed and unsheathed his sword as he hastened after Arvel and Kodya, as quickly as he could. It wasn’t long before he entered a room like a crypt, and heard an agonized howl and the collapse of a body.

Hoping that, of the two, it was Arvel who’d died and not Kodya, Gyrus surged forward, tugging his magicka forth into a wash of flames the instant he laid eyes on deathly pale skin and a desiccated frame. He backpedaled as the draugr he’d attacked turned, its pale blue, glowing eyes furious as it swung with a battleaxe. He tripped and landed backwards, his limbs still refusing to completely cooperate. But the flesh of these creatures burned as easily as the living, even if they did not react to pain the way mortals did.

Gyrus rolled to the side to avoid a heavy overhand blow from the axe and watched, wide-eyed, as the draugr tried and failed to pry the weapon from the stone. As its body burned, its movements slowed and then ceased as it collapsed. He wasn’t sure if it was truly dead, the amount of damage freeing whatever enchantment or obsession tied its soul to this plane, or if it was simply too damaged to move; though he didn’t have the time to figure it out, because he heard a pained cry and hurried to aid whoever was still alive.

It was Kodya, holding two of his knives instead of his bow and bleeding from a gash in his head and arm. He was still alive, baring his teeth in a mockery of a grin and furiously defending himself from the two flanking draugr. Gyrus, unsure whether he could coordinate well enough to duel – especially since he doubted his technical skill could outmatch that of old warriors – and not wanting to accidentally sear Kodya with fire, decided that his next best option for fighting one of the draugr was to tackle it to the ground.

The one-handed war axe-wielding draugr, focused on Kodya, was unable to turn fast enough as Gyrus, yelling wordlessly, did just that. It went down with a surprised gurgle. Gyrus jammed his sword into its weapons arm and seared its head at close range with fire, as hot as he could make it. It stopped struggling and twitching shortly.

Gyrus retrieved his sword and turned to see that Kodya had, thankfully, dispatched his remaining opponent. The huntsman was panting and dripping blood from small wounds, and his hide armor seemed damaged in places, but he was very much alive and mostly well. Gyrus wasn’t sure if he could have beared it if the huntsman died. It was partially _ his _fault Kodya was here, in this ruin.

“Well, that was stupid,” Kodya remarked cheerfully as he wiped blackish ooze on the worn armor of the draugr. “I should have let Arvel just run into the draugr when I felt the amulet grow warm.”

“Are you alright?” Gyrus fretted. “I’m sorry I wasn’t fast enough…”

Kodya shook his head as something materialized from his pocket stone with a soft glow. “I should have known you hadn’t quite cleared all of the spider venom from your system yet.”

“_I _ should have known better than to trust the word of a bandit,” Gyrus glowered bitterly. “If I hadn’t asked you to cut him down, he wouldn’t have run, and you wouldn’t have had to run after him…”

“It was ultimately my choice to cut him down and then run after him,” Kodya declared, glaring without much heat. He took two sips from the phial he’d brought out and then stowed it back in his inventory. Gyrus watched as his cuts quickly knit themselves back together.

“Now then,” Kodya began, “Let’s see if our dearly departed friend had anything useful on him, shall we?” He walked over to the body of Arvel, who was splayed on the floor, his ribcage ruined by a massive rent that had probably come from the battleaxe-wielding draugr. Gyrus shifted uncomfortably as Kodya deftly searched the body for bags and pockets. It didn’t take him long to retrieve a small pouch that held only two items when they looked inside: a golden statuette carved in the shape of a three-clawed foot, and a small, thin journal. Gyrus took a quick look at his amulet. It was glowing dimly. Draugr not far, but not threateningly near, either.

“We should take some time to look at what he found,” Gyrus suggested quietly. “I doubt there will be anywhere this deep in the ruin that is completely safe.”

Kodya consulted his own amulet. “Yeah,” he concurred. “If we finally found the remaining draugr… we might not be able to figure this out anywhere safer.”

Gyrus fished out the golden claw and examined it. It seemed to be made entirely of gold, not just gold-brushed. He didn’t know what animal the claw was modeled from; he’d never heard of a claw relic being important to a Nordic ruin, so it was possible the claw was modeled after a nonexistent creature. But that didn’t seem right for the ancient Nords, who loved to include animal symbolism in their designs. It was possible, whatever Arvel’s reasoning for thinking the claw to be significant, he’d been duped.

_ Or maybe it’s modeled after a dragon claw_, Gyrus thought, chilled. It would make a certain amount of sense.

Carved onto the palm of the claw in a column were images of three animals: a bear on top, a moth in the middle, and an owl at the bottom. Gyrus frowned, unsure why these three animals had been chosen, out of all the animals the ancient Nords paid tribute to.

“What’s in the journal?” he asked quietly, breaking the silence.

“Research about this place, I think, and some logging of his not-so-legal activities,” Kodya replied. “But I think this entry near the end might be the most concise. Let me know if this means much to you.” He handed the small book to Gyrus, who squinted to read the cramped and messy print.

_ “My fingers are trembling. The Golden Claw is finally in my hands, and with it, the power of the ancient Nordic heroes. That fool Lucan Valerius had no idea that his favorite store decoration for the Riverwood Trader was actually the key to Bleak Falls Barrow. _

_ Now I just need to get to the Hall of Stories and unlock the door. The legend says there is a test that the Nords put in place to keep the unworthy away, but that ‘when you have the golden claw, the solution is in the palm of your hands’.” _

Gyrus blinked, caught off-guard by the reference to the Riverwood Trader. Was this claw what the shopkeeper and his sister had been arguing about?

More immediately interesting, though, was a reference to a door that needed unlocking. And the “solution in the palm of your hands”… 

“I think this claw is a key to a locked door,” he murmured. “And the combination for the lock, however it appears, is inscribed here, on the palm of the claw.” He flipped the claw to show the inscribed animals to Kodya.

“But that hardly makes any sense,” Kodya argued. “If you go through the trouble of making a combination lock, why would you put the combination _ on _the key? Anyone could open the door if they had the key then!”

“The journal says the door is a test to keep the unworthy away. But anyone with half a brain would be able to open the door. Unless there’s something more about the door…”

“Anyone with half a brain…” Kodya repeated to himself. “Granted, there are men who would be stumped even by so simple a puzzle, but even most _ children _could… If this is supposed to be a robust security measure, were the Nords just much stupider thousands of years ago?” 

“Couldn’t have been,” Gyrus shook his head, shooting the idea down immediately. “Half-wits couldn’t have built structures that have survived for millennia.” He sighed. “Much as I’d like to continue thinking about this problem, this isn’t important right now. We might be overthinking, and there is something more complex about the door, anyway, wherever it is.”

Kodya nodded and rubbed his brow. “Yes, that’s a good idea. There are more important things at stake. Your curiosity is rubbing off on me,” he grumbled. Then he held the claw out to Gyrus. “Here.”

“Huh?”

“My pocket stone is almost at the limit of what it can hold,” Kodya explained. “If I overburden it, all the items could be expelled or destroyed, or I could be burdened with all the weight, all at once. Men have lost limbs and died from such sudden weight pressed upon them.”

“Oh!” Gyrus took the claw and stored it, along with the journal, in his bag. “That would be a terrible fate.”

He walked toward the other end of the crypt, where there was a tunnel leading further. Unexpectedly, a hand on his armor jerked him back, and Gyrus scrambled for his sword before he realized it was just Kodya. 

“Pressure plate,” the huntsman replied to the unspoken question, pointing to a flagstone half-hidden in shadow that was marked with a rune and ever so slightly protruded from the stones around it. “I would imagine it triggers that wall of spikes hidden in the shadows there to jump forward. A terrible way to die.”

Gyrus shuddered and gingerly stepped around the pressure plate. “Thank you,” he squeaked, rattled by how close he’d been to stepping on the plate.

As they passed through the halls, they took care to keep an eye on their amulets to warn them when draugr were near. The sheer number of them, interred in the numerous crypts, was staggering. Gyrus could see why entire armies had failed to rid the place of them. The further in they traveled, the heavier the smell of death and decay became.

Thankfully, the two of them didn’t need to fight all the draugr – just make it past them. The undead were easily distracted; some even appeared to be sleeping. Kodya, Gyrus found, was very, very good at sneaking past them, and then diverting their attention with a thrown rock clattering in just the right way for Gyrus to ineptly sneak past, his armor creaking no matter what he did to try to stop it. Thankfully, the frostbite venom had worn off, and he was under full control of his limbs.

Their next major hurdle was a swinging axe trap that, no matter how hard they looked, had no way around and no visible disabling mechanism. The axes were big enough that they couldn’t crawl underneath them, either.

“M-maybe we could try to take some shields from the draugr…?” Gyrus suggested, the thought of trying to run through the trap chilling him.

Kodya was watching the axes with almost vicious focus. “I have a better, or maybe worse idea that will _ not _ require us sneaking around the draugr unnecessarily,” he divulged.

“What is it?”

“Turn around, kid,” he instructed cryptically. “And don’t make a sound until I say. In fact, put a hand over your mouth.”

“Okay…?” Gyrus complied, doing as he was asked. What was Kodya up to?

Loud, fast footsteps, stealth sacrificed for speed, were his answer. Gyrus whirled around, horrified, too late to stop Kodya from plunging into the teeth of the axe trap.

One breath stretched into eternity. Two. But there was no agonized scream, no spray of blood. And then, without further fanfare, the trap deactivated. Kodya’s intact face peeked from the end of the tunnel, smug.

Gyrus sank to his knees, his heart pounding. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kodya approaching him, frowning.

“Kid, I’m fine,” he assured quietly. “I saw the rhythm to the swings and knew I could make it. I did what had to be done.”

“I thought I was going to have a heart attack,” Gyrus whimpered.

“This is why I made you turn around,” Kodya sighed. He nudged Gyrus and continued, “C’mon, kid. Let’s keep moving. I don’t want to be stuck down here more than a day; we’ll be sitting ducks from exhaustion. Freak out later if you need to, but I need you to keep your wits about you _ now_.” Gyrus nodded as he climbed to his feet, trying to will his frantic heart to calm and the blind panic to subside.

They traversed the next area, a series of cramped hallways of crypts, more cautiously. In the narrow passageways, it was impossible to avoid or sneak around the draugr. Gyrus and Kodya tag-teamed the draugr one by one, keeping as quiet as possible to avoid attracting more. At one point, Gyrus noticed oil spilled on the floor and directed Kodya to back up to not get caught in the flare-up. He wound up killing three draugr at once, just with a small flame to ignite the oil. Which was good, because he was starting to run low on magicka.

Gyrus frowned and slowed as they neared another set of tunnels that looked much more cave-like, almost as if the ancient Nords had given up constructing a proper crypt and had just carved tunnels as caves. Or maybe this section _ had _been subject to actual cave-in in the past… Either way, it seemed this was the correct way forward.

They emerged into a chamber that was half-cave, half-crypt, with a rough-hewn bridge spanning a small stream from a waterfall on one wall. Columns on each side of the waterfall almost made Gyrus think it was intentional, except that the area was too degraded for that. But then he didn’t have any more time to ponder it, as a draugr burst out of a single casket and attacked them. 

Defeating it was sloppy work, Gyrus had to admit. The only reason he hadn’t taken serious injury was that his armor took the brunt of the damage of the blows. He had to admit it; between his near-depleted magicka and the almost constant fighting and sneaking they had been doing for hours now, he was exhausted.

“I need to rest,” he moaned, slumping on a rocky ledge. “I’m sorry, I just don’t have your stamina.”

Kodya shook his head, sitting on the ledge next to him. “I can’t go on forever either; I would have needed to stop eventually,” he admitted. He looked at his amulet and said, “This is the dimmest the sensing amulet has been since that first crypt; this is a good time to rest. A good time to stop and have some food, too.”

Gyrus perked up at the mention of food. Kodya withdrew two small cloth bundles from his pocket stone, handed one to Gyrus, and started to unwrap his own.

Gyrus hastily undid the knot at the top and eagerly tore into the portioned smoked herring, bread, cheese, and nuts. “Did you buy these pre-portioned?” he asked around mouthfuls.

Kodya shook his head. “No, I put them together last night using some of the food I bought, during my watch. Figured it could be handy to have some meals pre-prepared, even if it was just dividing supplies into portions.”

“Good idea,” Gyrus mumbled. His food was disappearing entirely too quickly for his liking.

“By the way, here…” Kodya added, as he handed over a small phial from his inventory. “Noticed you’ve been using less and less of your fire. I’ve only got one of these, so let’s hope now is a good time to use it.”

“A magicka potion?” Gyrus asked as he uncorked the stopper and sniffed.

“Mhm.”

Gyrus downed it, sighing as he felt the magicka in his internal pool increase. “This definitely helps, but I still don’t have as much available as when we set out,” he warned. “I hope we don’t have to deal with too many more draugr. This place can only be so big.”

“Assuming we don’t get lost trying to find the main chamber,” Kodya grumbled. “Can’t exactly ask the locals for directions.”

“I don’t think they speak modern Tamrielic,” Gyrus snorted. “Who knows what they’ve been saying to us?” Occasionally, a draugr would vocalize something that sounded like words, guttural utterances forced out of dry, decayed throats. A few of these words, though certainly not many, almost stuck with Gyrus, rattling around in his skull like he knew what they meant, but the feeling faded within moments, and he was often too distracted to pay it mind.

“Probably dire threats, honestly. What else would they be saying?” Kodya guessed.

“Hm.” Gyrus fell quiet as he set aside the empty cloth that had carried his lunch. When Kodya said nothing more, he leaned back against the rock wall, letting his body relax and rest.

Gyrus couldn’t tell how long they’d been resting, or even traveling underground without sunlight. The timelessness was almost serene, if it weren’t for the decay that Gyrus could still smell even with the running water in the chamber overpowering most of it. But he didn’t think they’d been there too terribly long when they decided to move on. A simple pull of a chain lifted a portcullis to another set of passageways. Kodya was forced to withdraw and light a torch from his inventory; these tunnels were pitch-black, aside from a handful of luminous mushrooms that provided inadequate light. It was almost as if they’d left the ruins and wandered into a cave system; there were no signs of Nordic architecture anywhere. Just a small stream from the waterfall they’d splashed through and rock.

“I feel like we’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere,” Kodya muttered as they passed through a less cramped chamber.

“Doesn’t hurt to keep going a little further,” Gyrus reasoned. His amulet hadn’t grown any brighter, but it hadn’t dimmed from the barely-there glow it had taken on in the chamber they’d rested in. “If we hit a dead-end, at least we know we went the wrong way somewhere.”

“Alright. But if this cave system gets much bigger or starts branching, we ought to head back. We have an even lesser chance of finding that Dragonstone if we’re lost in caves, compared to lost in the ruins.”

Kodya extinguished and discarded the spent torch in the stream when they saw natural light at the other end of the tunnel. Before they could exit into the sunlight – it was heartening that it was still day; Gyrus’s internal clock hadn’t been thrown _ too _badly askew – Gyrus noticed something with sharp edges by the entrance, illuminated by a patch of the luminous mushrooms.

“Look!” he exclaimed, pointing to the object and then tugging Kodya over. “We might be going the right way after all; something was put here!” And it turned out the object wasn’t just any _ something_, either; it was a chest. Maybe they’d be lucky and the Dragonstone had been hidden in these caves?

“It’s not that uncommon to hide chests of valuables in caves where they’re unlikely to be found,” Kodya remarked.

Gyrus gingerly opened the chest – it was an antique, after all – and slumped, disappointed. Nothing that looked like a Dragonstone, just some ancient septims, other ancient gold and silver coins, and some gems.

“Well, well,” Kodya drawled appreciatively, kneeling by the chest. “What do we have here?”

“Nothing useful,” Gyrus sighed as he leaned back.

“Noth– what?” Kodya did a double-take. 

“Ancient currency is easy to find if you know where to look and has no buying value today.” Gyrus shook his head. “Besides, it doesn’t sit right to rob from our ancestors, and we can’t exactly carry it, anyway.”

“Gold and silver can be melted down and repurposed and gemstones still have value,” Kodya rebutted, his fingers twitching like he wanted to run his hands through the pile. “My pocket stone can…”

Gyrus snapped his fingers in front of Kodya’s eyes. “You said your pocket stone was near capacity, remember? Don’t let common sense be drowned by greed. Besides, who knows if there are any curses attached to this treasure?”

“Who knows if there are any curses attached to the Dragonstone?” Kodya retorted as his fingers brushed appreciatively over the pile. “Leaving this here, gathering dust, is just wasteful.”

Gyrus had to remind himself that the huntsman was here more because of the hefty reward promised by the Jarl than because of the threat of massive death and destruction from dragons. He shouldn’t have been terribly surprised by the man’s attraction to the treasure. 

“Ugh, we don’t have time to argue about this,” he groaned. “We can’t carry it. Let’s just _ go_.”

“Can’t carry _ all _ of it,” Kodya muttered under his breath, sofly enough that he probably thought Gyrus didn’t catch it. Gyrus was paying keen enough attention that he saw two glittering stones vanish into one of the man’s pouches at his hip before he closed the lid of the chest. Gyrus rolled his eyes but didn’t comment; at least Kodya wasn’t risking his pocket stone.

They headed back to the cave exit, and Gyrus was just about to emerge into the sunlight – definitely past midday, but not quite transitioning to sunset yet – when he noticed that he was about to walk right off a cliff. He stopped immediately, but slipped on water-slick stones and almost plummeted out anyway, yelping. Fortunately, Kodya caught him and hauled him back.

“Kynareth, that was close,” Gyrus moaned, cautiously looking at the cliff he’d almost fallen off. He gulped; there was a ledge he could have caught not far down, but if he’d been unable to catch it, the fall looked at least five stories high – definitely injurious if not fatal. “Thank you.”

“Like I’d let you go over the edge of a cliff,” Kodya snorted. “I think this is a dead end we’ve hit, kid. There’s nowhere else to go. And no way would climbing down be safe or reasonable; no way we could hold on to rocks slicked with water and ice.”

“Wait,” Gyrus said. “Could you give me a torch?”

Kodya lit and handed one to him. “We’ve gone through half our torches. We may have to improvise if we run out.”

“My candlelight spell doesn’t take too much magicka, but it’s best to preserve all I’ve got for now,” Gyrus admitted as he approached the chest he’d just dragged Kodya away from – or, rather, the corner the chest was in. Because now that he thought about it, he’d noticed… 

“Aha,” he exclaimed triumphantly. “Not a dead end.” The cave passage curved sharply to the right, the glow of the mushrooms signifying its presence easy to miss next to the distraction of sunlight.

“I can’t believe I missed that,” Kodya muttered. 

The tunnel sloped steeply downwards; the two of them had to watch their footing. But no more than ten minutes later, it spat them out onto the ledge Gyrus had seen from the top of the waterfall. Across the ledge was the opening to another cave, easily big enough to allow human passage. 

“One at a time crossing?” Gyrus suggested. The ledge was wide enough to walk without side-stepping, but there was no telling how much weight it could hold, or how slippery it was.

Kodya sighed. “One at a time.”

Individually, they carefully traversed the length of the ledge, clinging to the rock wall on one side when possible to avoid slipping. But the ledge was less slippery than they were both expecting, almost like someone had made an attempt to scrape off the snow and ice. Like someone had been using it. There were even indents in the snow that almost looked like old, messy, degraded foot and bootprints. Gyrus took it as a hopeful sign and stubbornly pressed forward into the next set of cave tunnels. 

These tunnels took them on a steep incline. There was still no sign of Nordic handiwork, but Gyrus noticed that his amulet was growing brighter, in slow and small increments. Then, all of a sudden, Gyrus saw firelight that didn’t come from the nearly-spent torch he was holding. He hastened his pace, slipped through an opening that was _ just _large enough for a man, and abruptly found himself back in the ruins in a corridor. One side was blocked by a landslide, but the other was clear of debris (though not roots) and marked by a familiar type of enchanted brazier. 

Gyrus grinned widely at Kodya as the man stepped through the opening to the ruins. “I think we went the right way,” he noted smugly.

“Huh, what do you know,” Kodya remarked in astonishment. “But why, with the caves…?”

Gyrus smoothed his hand over the small opening roughly carved in the side of the passage. “That cave-in,” he murmured. “It must have happened after the original builders created this place, otherwise they would have just fixed it. But if you can’t fix an underground passage, what do you do?”

“Find another way,” was the prompt response. “But who would try to make another path?” Kodya demanded. “No way the jarls’ armies got this far; I stopped seeing battle damage a while ago.”

“Which only leaves the _ draugr_,” Gyrus breathed in wonder.

“What? That can’t be,” Kodya contested. “All I’ve heard and seen them do is fight or look for intruders, stand around, and sleep. Why or how would they…?”

The reason was so simple, Gyrus almost groaned when it came to him. “They’ve been down here for so long. It’s their _ home_, Kodya. They try to protect it. And if one part of your home got damaged or blocked off from another, you’d try to fix it if you could, wouldn’t you? Who knows what they do when the living aren’t watching?”

Kodya opened and shut his mouth a couple times before weakly saying, “I wish I knew how to respond to that. Not that it would really affect us, but I thought they were just undead _ guards_.”

“They protect their tombs. Maintenance could be considered a form of protection, couldn’t it?” Gyrus reasoned. He was itching to pull out his journal and record all this. There was really no other explanation for the detour they’d taken. Of course, until someone had actually witnessed a draugr cleaning, or sweeping up debris, there was no direct proof of his hypothesis, but Gyrus could think of no other explanation.

It didn’t take them long traveling through the ruins before their amulets flared brightly again, burning a warning. Either a lot of draugr were suddenly nearby, or… 

_ One scarier draugr_, Gyrus thought nervously. It was standing in front of a large doorway protectively like a guard, and it had already seen them, if the aggressive charge with a two-handed battleaxe was any indication. It looked the same as the draugr they’d run into before, but somehow seemed to emit a thicker rage or feeling of death. 

Gyrus and Kodya found that it was definitely a more skilled warrior than the others, with better form and a better weapon. Gyrus almost had his ribs crushed when he wasn’t fast enough to completely dodge an attack; the axe was sharp enough to cut through his armor and leave him with a nasty gash, anyway. But between Kodya’s arrows and his fire, they were able to bring it down. Thankfully, if there were any draugr beyond the doorway, they had not heard the struggle.

Kodya made him drink the remaining portion of their last healing potion. He didn’t think any of his organs had been hit, but he was gushing blood all down the front of his armor. Gyrus could almost taste metal; the smell was so close and strong. Once the wound had been sealed, Gyrus cleaned the drying blood off his armor as well as he could with rags Kodya handed to him. He couldn’t quite get at everything, especially under his armor, since taking it off in the middle of the ruin was a stupid idea. He grimaced at the feeling of blood sticking to his skin.

“I hope we can get to the central chamber soon,” Kodya commented quietly. “You’ve really been taking a beating, kid.”

Gyrus sighed and agreed. His leather armor, which had been pristine mere hours ago, now bore numerous marks from their various scuffles, some of which punctured through to show his vulnerable skin. If he kept it after this venture – which he was planning to, because it was the only armor he owned, and it had been fitted to him – it would need some serious repairs.

Their amulets were dim enough that they were fairly certain there were no draugr behind the double doors. Even so, they still cautiously creeped through the doors into the next chamber.

The only thing of note was an ornamental brazier displayed prominently in the center of the room. Gyrus couldn’t tell if the ornamental statues attached to the brazier were heads or hands, or even if they belonged to animal or human. The lighting wasn’t good enough, and wasting magicka or a torch to find out would be wasteful, so Gyrus regretfully left the chamber behind to proceed into the next passage. There was nothing of interest in the passage, nor any enemies, aside from their amulets slowly growing brighter and brighter as a warning that they were approaching more draugr. A _ lot _more draugr.

But in the doorway to the next large chamber, which was probably teeming with draugr they didn’t want to fight, they ran into a problem.

“Shit, another one of these?” Gyrus hissed as he stared in dismay at another swinging axe trap.

Kodya grimaced. “I could probably make it through this one like the last one. But if there are too many draugr in there for us to handle, we _ definitely _don’t want to attract their attention.” His brow furrowed as he considered the problem. “But it looks like this one doesn’t pass so low to the ground. If I can crawl my way under, distract the draugr while I deactivate the trap, you come through, and I reactivate the trap so they don’t notice…” 

Gyrus peered through the doorway, trying to make out any features of the room beyond. He didn’t see any draugr, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. But what he _ did _see… 

“If we caused a big enough distraction, do you think the draugr would be too busy dealing with it to attack us?” Gyrus asked slowly. “And if they do notice and attack us, that distraction could probably work in our favor.”

Kodya looked at him warily. “Just what are you thinking?” It almost sounded like an accusation.

Gyrus turned towards him with a determined glint in his eye. “Do you have any arrows you wouldn’t mind setting on fire?”

* * *

_ This is so stupid it might actually work, _Kodya thought as he nocked an old iron arrow from his inventory with the head partially wrapped in an oil-soaked rag. Gyrus lit it with a quick flick of his finger, and Kodya aimed it through the doorway, timing it right so it wouldn’t bounce off one of the axes. Even though he wasn’t the most pious of Nords, he sent a quick silent prayer to Akatosh that this would work, and that he wouldn’t get himself killed trying to get past these draugr to retrieve the Dragonstone. 

He fired.

In the next instant, the pot of magic fire hanging in view fell to the ground and exploded. Kodya threw up his arms against the flare of light. When he could see again, he hooked his bow to his back, waited for the right moment, and dashed through the axe trap as fast as he could. Like the other trap, the chain to disable it was right to the side, and he pulled it as he watched the pandemonium erupt. He drew his bow and some more steel arrows; his quiver was starting to feel alarmingly light.

Some very unhappy-sounding draugr screeched and groaned at each other as magic fire, able to burn without any source of fuel, licked along the floor. Kodya was glad Gyrus had concocted this plan, because unlike some of the earlier areas, there were _ way _too many draugr in this area for just the two of them to try to take head on or sneak past with any hope of succeeding. The way forward wasn’t clear, either, because the chamber was large enough to have a second story built along the perimeter of the room, and both stories had multiple branching chambers and passageways. He looked around, trying to figure out which way to go.

Gyrus came up beside him, wide-eyed from shock and a little bit of terror. “Which way?” he hissed.

“I don’t know!” Kodya replied, as loud as he dared. “There are so many side chambers and crannies! At the very least, not the first floor, because everywhere here looks like it leads to a dead end.”

“Let’s go then!” Gyrus declared, grabbing Kodya by the arm and yanking him forward.

Kodya swore to himself; in this situation, it was too late to go back. The two of them sprinted around the spreading fire and the draugr attempting to put it out, a few of which turned to look at them and made furious guttural noises. 

Kodya realized what Gyrus was headed for halfway across the room: the staircase of logs built into the side. Gyrus let him go as they thundered up the staircase. They were met by three draugr just at the top. Gyrus didn’t even bother trying to fight them, just sprayed some fire to confuse and conceal while he continued forward.

_ This is insane; I am going to die_, Kodya thought hysterically as he and Gyrus rushed forward. He could barely spare glances at the draugr trying to corner them while frantically trying to figure out which of the corridors and passageways was the right one. Gyrus lit some spilled oil as another distraction and parried a draugr sword while Kodya just aimed to hit the draugr with his arrows as a distraction. Draugr arrows whizzed passed his head while melee weapons sliced at his fleeing form. Any moment, he expected one of the weapons to hit, slashing him open from nose to navel, piercing a leg, decapitating him… 

Kodya saw it. “There!” he shouted in desperation. “Across the bridge!” Spanning the second story, from one side of the room to the other, was a stone bridge to a section inaccessible by other means. It was the only passage that didn’t have inset slots for bodies, or metal caskets, or have ever more draugr emerging from them. There was only one draugr on the bridge, and it looked like it was itching to fight. 

“Got it!” Gyrus yelled, fire spewing from his open hand with abandon and setting draugr alight. 

Kodya was closer and ran across the bridge first. The draugr happily met him with a swinging sword. Kodya managed to dodge the first few swipes and, in desperation, bashed the draugr with his bow arm, bow and all, hard enough to send it falling off the bridge and into the conflagration on the first floor that the draugr seemed hard-pressed to get under control. He made it to the other side of the bridge just moments before Gyrus, who sprinted across the bridge and then set another reservoir of magic fire hanging over their end of the bridge alight. The resulting explosion knocked Gyrus off his feet into Kodya, and they both tumbled hard to the ground, just in time to avoid a fresh volley of arrows.

“That should hold and distract them for a while,” Gyrus said after he’d laid dazed for a few moments.

Kodya, who Gyrus had landed on, only wheezed in response. Once he pushed the other man off him, he gasped, “Need to… get out of their range…” He clumsily half-stumbled, half crawled for the doorway while fighting to regain his breath. Gyrus, who’d managed to get to his feet, tugged him along. They barely made it around the corner of the next passage in one piece, with a hail of arrows, thrown knives, draugr screams and curses, and even a hurtled battleaxe following them. Thankfully, it seemed that the horde of draugr couldn’t follow them past the fire. Maybe a few tried, but the fire ate at them too much to render them able to continue the pursuit.

It was only a stopgap measure at best. Once the draugr put the fire out, they would be after the two of them. In that time, they needed to make as much headway as possible, and maybe find someplace to hide until the draugr got bored.

Gods, this had been such a stupid plan. Kodya could hardly believe he was still alive.

But they certainly weren’t safe yet. He hauled himself to his feet and headed down the passage, with Gyrus beside him. The passageway was short and winding, and they were met with another heavy set of double doors. 

“Find something to jam them with!” Kodya panted as he pushed the doors open. He looked around desperately. They’d been admitted into a straight hallway leading to another door at the end. Aside from braziers, candle stands, and a couple pots, the hall was empty. Nothing big or heavy to block the door with.

Kodya was at a loss for how to block the door, but Gyrus ran over to the candle stands, grabbed one, and returned to the door. He jammed the base of it under the door as hard as he could.

“Hope that buys us some time,” he sighed. 

“That was such a terrible plan. I’m pretty sure that’s the worst plan that I’ve ever had the misfortune of following,” Kodya sniped, his nerves frazzled.

“You know, I just remembered, but I feel like that’s a situation that we maybe should have used our scroll of guardian circle for,” Gyrus mentioned conversationally.

Kodya groaned. “We fucking forget it. Oblivion take me, all that risk…”

“Uh. You’re bleeding, by the way,” Gyrus pointed out.

“Oh,” Kodya simply replied as he noticed the stinging pain on his draw arm. He grimaced and looked down; it looked like a draugr had nicked him with a slashing weapon. 

“…You’ve got two arrows stuck in the back of your armor,” Kodya reciprocated, pulling bandages and ointment from his inventory. “Best make this fast; no telling when they’ll get through.”

“Wait, what?” Gyrus blurted out as he groped the back of his armor for the arrows. He’d felt the hits, but he hadn’t thought… He grimaced as he yanked them out. One hadn’t punctured the armor, but the other had and nicked his skin. Nothing serious, but it certainly stung.

Meanwhile, Kodya slathered ointment on the wound to help stop the bleeding and tied a bandage around the wound as expediently as he could. It wouldn’t affect his aim or draw strength, but it could be a potential distraction if he let it. Which he wouldn’t.

They hurried to the other end of the hall and were forced to stop at the next door. This one could not be pushed open. There was a strange circular mechanism in the center, with three rings hosting small individual carvings of animals – a bear, a moth, and an owl, from the inner to the outer rings – surrounding a circular plate with three holes in the place of claws on a carving of a three-toed foot.

“Is this the door that thief Arvel was referencing?” Kodya wondered.

“Has to be,” Gyrus replied as he fished out the golden claw from his battered pack. “Which means,” he breathed, whirling around, “This is the Hall of Stories!” He hadn’t been paying attention as he’d jogged past, but now he could make out engravings along the walls, just enough to see that they were there but not to make out any details. He stepped away from the door towards the closest one, entranced and wanting to—

A hand yanked him back. “Don’t get distracted!” Kodya admonished. “Horde of angry draugr trying to pursue us, remember? How does this door work?”

Gyrus looked longingly at the carvings. What they could say about the ancient Nords…! But Kodya was right. Survival and the Dragonstone came first. Reluctantly, almost painfully, he turned away and focused on the door. Experimentally, he touched one of the rings, then tried to rotate it. With a scrape of stone on stone, a hidden mechanism was triggered, and the ring rotated until another animal carving, another bear, lined up with the other two.

Gyrus frowned as he looked down at the claw, remembering their conversion about the locking mechanism. Could it really be that simple? He activated the rings, rotating them until the pattern on the door matched the one on the claw: bear on top, moth in the middle, owl on bottom. He glared at the door, almost certain there was some sort of trick he wasn’t seeing. 

“This seems too easy,” Kodya’s words echoed his own thoughts. “If there was a trap on the gate earlier that led into a room with nothing of value, there’s no way this one isn’t. It can’t be as simple as this.”

“‘When you have the golden claw, the solution is in the palm of your hands’...” Gyrus recited. “That’s what the journal said. Though the man was a liar and a thief, Arvel did do his research on this place, and I doubt he’d purposefully write an incorrect clue to the door in his personal journal.”

Kodya frowned. “He could have encoded the journal somehow, or misinterpreted the legend. I don't want to risk my life on the words of a bandit.”

Gyrus nervously bit his lip. “We also can’t linger here with all those draugr after us,” Gyrus pointed out apprehensively. They couldn’t backtrack for any other possible clues, and scanning the expansive murals lining the Hall of Stories would be impossible to do before the draugr caught up. “We don’t have the time to consider other options; the draugr could catch up at any time.” 

“Divines, I hope this is actually as simple as it looks…” Kodya muttered apprehensively. 

Holding his breath in anticipation, Gyrus inserted the claws of the key into the holes. Nothing happened until he pushed in and turned the claw from side to side. For a moment, he thought nothing had happened, but then clanking emerged from the mechanism in the door. The rings spun until all of them showed the owl carvings. Then, with a final mighty _ clunk_, the claw fell from the lock and door began to open – not swinging open, like Gyrus had seen all his life, but sliding down into a niche in the ground.

“Incredible,” he breathed as he watched the heavy door descend, his awe overtaking his apprehension. He couldn’t even begin to guess at the mechanism, mechanical or magical, that was moving the door. “To think, our ancestors built this thousands of years ago…” He reverently returned the golden claw to his pack.

“An impressive door. Strange that the lock combination would be on the key. I can’t believe it really was that simple,” Kodya commented, mystified. He shook his head. “Let’s keep moving. I dearly hope that this door means we’re getting close to the main chamber.”

“Me too,” Gyrus admitted.

The door finished retracting with a resounding clank. Gyrus took a deep breath and, taking the lead, stepped through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember to leave a kudos or comment if you enjoyed this special double-length chapter!
> 
> Oblivion Crisis - a violent event 200 years prior to current events wherein portals to Oblivion opened all over Tamriel and ended the Septum Dynasty and the Third Era. This event marked the beginning of the Fourth Era, and is also the main conflict of The Elder Scrolls IV game.
> 
> Septim Dynasty - a bloodline of Emperors and Empresses of Cyrodiil, started by Tiber Septim at the beginning of the Third Era after conquering all of Tamriel. Ended during the Oblivion Crisis. 
> 
> Hall of Stories - halls of carved reliefs depicting the history of the ancient Nords, located within their ruins. There is rich history to be derived from them, but accessing them can be nigh impossible thanks to the undead guards of the ruins.


	10. Unrelenting Force

Gyrus and Kodya were admitted into a dark stairwell leading upwards, illuminated only by firelight at the top. Kodya quickly withdrew and lit a torch to avoid stumbling in areas where the steps had been damaged. Mindful of the draugr that could break through the wall of fire and pursue them at any time, they hurried to the top of the stairwell. Their amulets were, thankfully, only glowing dimly.

“Wait!” Gyrus exclaimed as a thought struck him. “We can’t be followed if we close the door behind us!”

“I didn’t see any way to close the door from this side,” Kodya pointed out.

“There’s got to be something, to make sure this chamber is defensible. I’ll look downstairs; you look around up here. Let me have that torch, would you?” Kodya nodded in understanding and handed him the torch.

Gyrus hurried back down the steps and examined the area around the door. There was a little damage from rubble in this area, but not enough to prevent Gyrus from spotting a stylized lever-like mechanism made of the same metal as the door next to the doorway. 

“Found it!” he announced, pulling the lever without hesitation. A split second later, he panicked, thinking that he’d forgotten to be wary of possible traps – but his panic turned out to be for naught, as the door smoothly started to rise from its niche in the floor. With good timing, too, because banging had just started to echo from the doors Gyrus had jammed shut at the other end of the Hall of Stories.

Gyrus climbed the stairwell and handed the torch back to Kodya. The huntsman sighed, his shoulders drooping.

“I really hope we’re close to the main chamber,” he grumbled. “I’ve had more than enough of this place.”

“We should be,” Gyrus replied optimistically. “Arvel did mention treasure being behind that door.”

Kodya snorted derisively as they continued forward through a hallway, heading for the next chamber, which apparently had been subject to a cave-in at some point, given the natural light and fresh air Gyrus could see and smell ahead. “He got us through that door, but I’m skeptical of anything else that bandit had to… say…” 

Kodya trailed off as they entered the next room. Gyrus couldn’t blame him. They’d entered a chamber that was at least double, if not triple, the size of the entry chamber they’d sheltered in the previous night. Halfway through the area, the low roof seemed to fall away, swooping upward or even possibly vanishing altogether. Broken caskets were shoved against the sides of the chamber near the one lit brazier. Gyrus noted that support columns in the side of the room with the lower ceiling were abundant.

“I think we found it,” he noted faintly, a little awed by the sheer scale of the chamber. “This _ has _to be the main chamber.”

“I sure hope so,” Kodya murmured as they headed forward. Thanks to the missing ceiling, exposure to the outside had turned the area into more of a cave than a built chamber anymore, but there were numerous manmade structures ahead: short bridges across small gullies, multiple sets of stairs leading up to a dais with a small altar and casket, and… 

“Wow,” Gyrus breathed, staring at the curved memorial wall set on the right side of the dais. It was an incredible monument, towering three stories high above the dais, decoratively carved, and inset with a large metal engraving. Waterfalls and small scrubby plants dotted the walls and floor of the chamber around the dais. Everything was illuminated by the yellowish light of sunset filtering in from holes in the ceiling. Gyrus absently noted that they’d been in the ruin nearly the whole day.

“Let’s look around,” Kodya suggested. “We’re bound to find something important around here.”

Gyrus eagerly headed toward the dais, the hope that they could locate their objective buoying his steps. After crossing a short bridge, however, he stopped cold. 

Behind him, Kodya tensed, ready to fight. “What is it?”

Gyrus shook his head, trying to dislodge the sudden pressure in his head and faint pounding in his ears. This was just what he _ didn’t _ need: a headache in these ruins. Though it wasn’t really _ painful_, per se… 

“Nothing,” Gyrus dismissed, blinking his eyes rapidly as he focused on the steps ahead of him. “Just a headache.”

Every step up, the pressure grew stronger and the pounding became louder, almost like drumbeats. Halfway up, Gyrus asked, “Do you hear anything?” He looked around, because the drumbeats almost sounded like the chanting of many voices, just barely audible.

“No,” Kodya replied, his brow furrowed. “What is it?”

“I— There might be people down here. Chanting,” Gyrus replied, a little slurred. It sounded ludicrous, unless it was draugr making all that noise. But that didn’t seem quite right, as their decayed vocal cords wouldn’t be able to produce the clear chorus echoing in his ears. The chanting became even more distinct as Gyrus ascended further. 

“What? That’s impossible,” Kodya argued. But Gyrus could barely hear him as he stepped onto the dais, his vision blurring as the wordless chanting became so loud and clear Gyrus almost thought a choir of men must have been standing right next to him.

He was being beckoned somewhere, Gyrus realized hazily. It was almost like he could _ understand _the wordless chants now; they were drawing his attention forward, forward just a little, and his vision grayed out as he walked towards—

Hands yanked him back. A blurry face swam into view, shouting something, but Gyrus couldn’t hear as he tore himself free with resolute strength, turning and reaching for—

Words. Shimmering and lighting the blackness in his vision. All chipped and fading and a little damaged, except for one word in particular, which shone bright as the sun. 

No longer wordless, voices boomed in his ears, the meaning of their words unfurling in his mind:

**Het nok faal vahlok ** / _ Here lies the guardian _

**Deinmaar do Dovahgolz ** / _ Keeper of the Dragonstone _

**Ahrk aan ** ** _FUS _ ** **do unslaad ** / _ And a _ ** _FORCE _ ** _ of unending _

**Rahgol ahrk vulom ** / _ Rage and darkness _

** _FUS _ ** echoed through him as visions flitted in his mind of _ power _ and _ pressure _ and _ violence _and—

“_Gyrus_!”

—it was over.

The world returned. Gyrus was standing in front of the memorial wall, his fingers brushing a scratch-like pattern that he somehow knew to his bones meant “force” and was pronounced “fus”. The rest of the scratched patterns on the wall… he knew what those meant, too, and how to pronounce them. 

Gyrus shook his head, a little dazed. His head felt like it was swimming.

“…Kid?”

Gyrus turned, blinking. Kodya had his bow drawn and ready, though thankfully not pointing at him.

“I’m okay,” Gyrus assured, a little rasping. “What happened?”

Kodya hesitated before answering. “It was like you were being drawn to the wall. I couldn’t stop you; you were completely unresponsive. Your eyes were glowing, too. I thought you were being possessed or something.”

Gyrus shook his head, his brain rapidly rebooting. “No. I’ve heard of Nordic tombs having memorial walls like this one, but never that they held any magic to affect people. It was like, our ancestors were speaking to me, telling me what’s written here… I suppose it would be a good way to ensure anyone who saw them would know what was written, generations in the future.” Mental clarity was returning last, but it was coming quickly, at least.

“So… did it say anything?”

“Yes, it—” Gyrus stopped, grinning as the words on the wall sunk in. “The Dragonstone is here! It’s kept by a guardian—”

A series of ominous cracks thundered through the chamber. Gyrus and Kodya whirled toward the noise to see the lid of the sole casket on the dais clatter to the ground. A very unhappy-looking, terrifying draugr wasted no time in climbing out, its movements smooth and the most life-like Gyrus had seen from a draugr. Gyrus unsheathed his sword as he shot a stream of flame at the draugr, advancing towards it, and Kodya quickly fired an arrow while hurrying backwards down the dais steps to put distance between himself and the draugr. 

The draugr nimbly dodged around both, drawing a wickedly sharp battleaxe in the process. Gyrus belatedly noticed a searing heat against his chest, a blazing warning from the amulet that this creature was _ not _ to be trifled with.

_ Oh gods_, Gyrus thought fearfully, right before the draugr opened its mouth and _ shouted_.

“**_Fus roh dah_**_!_”

A merciless force _ slammed _ into Gyrus, blasting him back so forcefully he was airborne for a couple seconds. He collided with another body just before he hit the uneven ground hard, his entire body aching as stars danced in his eyes and he gasped for the breath that had been knocked out of him.

Adrenaline pulled him to his knees before he could remember to locate where the draugr was. It turned out to be _ way too close_, its axe lifted above its head and ready to strike, and Gyrus barely got his sword – which he’d miraculously managed to hang on to – up in time to keep the battleaxe from splitting his head in two. The force of the blow almost knocked his sword out of his hands anyway, and a sudden burst of magic frost painfully coated his fingers from where he was gripping the hilt. When the axe drew back, Gyrus could see a massive rent slicing halfway through the sword, rendering it unreliable at the absolute best and completely useless at worst. But it was the only physical weapon and defense he had against the draugr.

Gyrus sprayed a gout of fire into the draugr’s face to try to blind it while Kodya – who, he just realized, he’d collided with earlier – jammed a knife into the draugr’s leg. Gyrus scrambled back clumsily as the draugr staggered back, howling in rage, then forced his bruised and trembling body to stand and stumble away. He followed Kodya, who was also retreating, towards a more open area of the chamber.

Gods, this draugr was a _ nightmare_, far worse than the others they’d faced. Arkay preserve them, because Gyrus didn’t know if they could come out of this encounter alive.

Too quickly, the draugr had cleared its vision, because it was _ right behind them _ and relentlessly gaining ground, despite the knife sticking from its calf. 

Gyrus deflected a glancing blow from the axe, gritting his teeth as more frost painfully sunk into his shoulder and lined one of his pauldrons. The weapon was enchanted, he realized – the draugr wasn’t casting any spells. But that just made the axe more dangerous. He blasted the draugr with more fire, ignoring the way his magicka pool felt alarmingly depleted, as arrows sprouted from the draugr’s shoulder and ribs.

Gyrus backpedalled as the draugr pressed forward, hardly seeming deterred. It snarled, appearing displeased that its current opponents kept retreating like cowards, but Gyrus was no fool. He knew he would die if he faced this draugr head-on. He was no honorable warrior, or a member of the Companions, ready to die a glorious death in combat. He was just a scholar who wanted to retrieve the Dragonstone to help fend off the dragons, then return home.

Gyrus dodged around a support pillar as the enchanted axe slashed at him again, shaving slivers of rock from the pillar instead of flesh from his hide. He swung around the pillar, hitting the draugr with another blast of fire. At least three more arrows protruded from its back. But despite all the fire and arrows, the draugr hardly seemed to be slowing down. It was a miracle Gyrus hadn’t yet taken anything more than a glancing blow, mostly because he could stay just out of its reach while hitting it with streams of fire.

The draugr followed Gyrus as he retreated back in the direction of the dais, snarling and growling. Gyrus ducked around and deflected a few more swings, ignoring the tight, uncomfortable feeling in his chest as he forced out more fire from the last dregs of his magicka.

A less-coordinated dodge resulted in a shallow, glancing blow curving around his ribs to his back, slitting his armor and knapsack but thankfully not his skin, beyond a shallow graze and a searing coat of frost. The contents of his knapsack spilled and scattered on the ground, but Gyrus couldn’t spare a glance to see what he’d lost or where everything had landed, occupied with keeping himself alive. The metal of his sword groaned alarmingly as he was forced to block another hit from the axe. His arm trembled under the weight of the force and the cold. He stepped back, because he was losing his balance and would topple over otherwise—

He stepped on something hard, round, and slippery, and immediately lost his footing. Pain stabbed up his leg as his ankle rolled, and he fell backward. The draugr wasted no time ripping the sword from his spasming grip with a flick of its axe. Gyrus lurched back, back, back– until he was actually _ falling_, into the small stream-carved gully, hitting hard rock and getting soaked with ice water. Though the stream was only a couple inches deep, it was more than enough to chill him to the bone when he was sprawled in it. His entire body ached or stung or just plain _ hurt_, and between the pain and cold he could barely find the will to twitch a finger.

Grating laughter sounded from above him. The draugr was _ laughing _ at him. And no wonder; Gyrus must have looked as pathetic as he felt, weaponless and defeated at the bottom of a ditch, easy pickings to be killed.

_ I’m sorry, everyone_, Gyrus thought morosely, wishing with every fiber of his being that he could be far, far away from here, huddled in a warm blanket and surrounded by his family.

The malicious laughter abruptly cut off with a gurgle, followed by a noise of rage. Gyrus peered up and saw that an arrow had sprouted from the draugr’s throat. But instead of falling, as it should have with such a wound, the draugr broke off the arrowhead and yanked the arrow out furiously, then charged out of Gyrus’s vision towards wherever the momentarily forgotten huntsman was with a rattling howl.

For a moment, Gyrus could barely think around the relief flooding his mind. The draugr was gone; he wasn’t dead! But then he realized Kodya would now have to fend off that monster with just _ knives _ and struggled to rise, fighting against pain and cold and stiffness. Running or playing dead to try to save his own skin didn’t even occur to him as he painfully hoisted his aching and freezing body up to ground level again. He immediately noticed where his belongings had been scattered, and looked for something, anything that might help… where was that damn spell scroll? _ Now _felt like a good time to use it.

Gyrus staggered to his feet, panting and clumsy, as he watched Kodya and the draugr fight across the chamber. Extra arrows had sprouted from the draugr’s body and limbs, but it still hadn’t slowed much. Was the damn thing unkillable? Gyrus limped towards the pair, unsure of what he could do but knowing he needed to do _ something _ to help as the draugr finished closing the distance and Kodya was forced to block the axe’s swings with his wooden bow, not even having time to even pull out his knives.

Part way there, his boot hit something soft. Gyrus looked down reflexively and blinked dumbly for a couple seconds at the leather tube containing the spell scroll of guardian circle, which he had just kicked a couple feet ahead. He looked back towards Kodya and the draugr, faint hope fluttering in his chest, just in time to see Kodya’s ice-mottled bow splinter in two and the draugr’s axe bury itself in his chest.

“_NO!_” Gyrus screamed, horror and fresh adrenaline pumping through his veins and blotting out his discomfort as he sprinted towards the two. 

Two steps forward, and he bent to swiftly pick up the spell scroll. The draugr withdrew its axe from Kodya’s chest with a sickening squelch. 

More steps, as the spell scroll was ripped from its leather tube. Kodya collapsed to the ground with a pained gurgle, deathly still. 

More steps, as the useless leather tube was flung away. A flood of blood drenched Kodya and the ground below him within moments. 

More steps, as the spell scroll unfurled. The draugr raised its axe above its head, in exactly the same manner as the Helgen executioner. 

Just a few more steps, almost there, as Gyrus coated his fingers in blood from one of his wounds.

He flung himself protectively over the huntsman’s bleeding form as he swiped his fingers in the activation array, completing the circuit, just as the axe began its descent.

* * *

A sudden burst of light and warmth, burning away darkness. Though he almost didn’t notice, because pain was searing and overwhelming in his chest, a growing hole consuming everything. But… now it was shrinking, and the pain was being shoved aside, not gone but just… something he could work around.

Kodya blearily blinked open his eyes, trying to make sense of the gray and black and gold of his hazy world. Those looked like… rocks, yes. A noise like wind, and crackling, and unearthly howling. What had he been doing? He… 

His pocket stone. The kid. Dragons. A Nordic ruin. Draugr. Draugr!

Oh, Arkay, that draugr had gotten him, he was going to die! Cold and weak, wheezing for breath, unable to scream in fury at just how _ unfair _ this was, if that damn kid hadn’t—

The gold. The gold was magic. Streams of gold light fluttering and circling around him. Three blinks turned into an eternity, his fury slipping away as strength started to trickle back, just enough to turn his head.

A blurry figure, hovering over him. Draugr? No, the kid, with that patch of green on his head. Arm extended, fire blazing. Oh, there was the draugr, beyond the whirling strands of gold.

Another heartbeat, his vision clearing more. The draugr looked like it was trying to force its way past the golden lines, regardless of the way its body was crisping from Gyrus’s fire, or the way golden magic was flaring through its body, taking pieces of dark energy with it. And the kid… 

Gods, he was _ gushing _ blood, spurting from gashes opening on their own before magically sealing themselves. Kodya didn’t know what he was seeing, but he knew it was _ bad _, and it needed to stop—

He could barely move as pain ripped through his chest when he tried to shift his weak, chilled body, gasping for breath. Kodya looked down and—

Oh. Right. He’d been speared by the axe. He stared dumbly down at the rent in his chest and the blood that was soaked into his useless hide armor. But he could see that the flow of fresh blood had slowed to a trickle, and even as he wheezed, the pain eased as he felt the shifting of tissue within him, knitting back together.

It took him longer than he would have liked to figure out that Gyrus must have used their scroll of guardian circle. The healing magic… it was saving his life.

He… he was going to live. The kid had saved him.

Saved by the kid, who was spurting blood, from the draugr who had nearly killed him. Kodya couldn’t be mad at the kid, even though Kodya had been dragged into this situation and almost killed, because the kid had fought and successfully saved his life at risk to his own. He could’ve abandoned Kodya to his fate, but he didn’t. A debt owed, a debt paid. They were even.

Kodya cursed his weak, useless body as he turned his head to watch the fight. The draugr didn’t look like it was in such good shape, with entire chunks of its body missing and its movements erratic and clumsy, but it was _ still _ trying to stubbornly bypass the guardian circle, screaming with rage through crisped vocal cords. Kodya glanced between the bleeding kid worriedly and his own chest, wishing the wound would hurry up and heal faster so he could do something useful, or at least not be _ helpless _ with a horrific enemy so close by.

But finally, finally, after waiting for what seemed to be an eternity, the draugr collapsed, its legs too physically eroded to carry its weight. It hit the ground and disintegrated, leaving behind nothing but a pile of ash and a discarded axe. A scorched stone tablet protruded from the ash pile.

The kid moaned in pain and exhaustion and collapsed back from where he’d been kneeling protectively in front of Kodya, jostling him painfully as he sat back heavily. Kodya winced as he tried to move; his insides weren’t quite finished healing and the gash in his skin hadn’t closed at all, in spite of the stopped bleeding.

Kodya looked over the kid worriedly; how had he gotten all those injuries? No new ones had appeared since the draugr had been vanquished, and the guardian circle was quickly restoring him, too. Maybe a curse from the draugr…?

_ Or_, Kodya considered, chilled as he recalled the little he knew about magic, _ he ran out of magicka and resorted to using his life force. _

“Kid,” he rasped, before hacking painfully. He coughed up blood that had pooled in his damaged right lung, spitting it onto the rocky floor. Oblivion, he felt terrible. But he still forced himself into a seated position, refusing to lie uselessly on the floor any longer. Pain radiated from his injury, and he had to stop and just _ breathe _for a moment once he was upright to wait for the pain to die back down and the black spots to disappear from his vision.

“Easy, Kodya. You’re in bad shape,” Gyrus cautioned quietly.

Kodya looked up to see the kid looking at him exhaustedly. “I could say the same for you,” he scraped out, eyeing the trails of blood that had streamed from the kid’s eyes, nose, mouth, and ears. “Magicka drain?”

The kid nodded wordlessly. Kodya could find nothing to say to that, or anything to say at all for the moment, so they lapsed into exhausted silence as the guardian circle continued to patch them up. It felt like all too soon when the golden light of the spell vanished, leaving it harder to see. Kodya slowly, tiredly pulled a torch out of his inventory and clumsily lit it. The pain in his chest had all but vanished, aside from a dull ache, and the torchlight revealed that the wound had sealed over with a patchwork of new skin and scabs. It would almost definitely scar. The lingering bone-deep weariness and unfamiliar chill in his veins were more of a burden than the pain.

The kid looked better than when he’d last checked. Most, if not all of the gashes had sealed up, though he was still a mess of blood, and looked about as tired as Kodya felt.

Kodya was half-convinced that they would both drop off to sleep right there in the chamber when he realized that he had food, and that that food would definitely help them. He painstakingly wedged the torch between two fallen rocks, then pulled eight bundles from his inventory. Four for him, four for Gyrus, a full day and a half of rations each. They would need their strength to get out of here. Kodya wanted to find the Dragonstone and be _ gone _ from these ruins. At least they’d beaten the guardian.

The kid saw the food he offered, blinked tiredly a couple times, then fell upon the bundles like a starving wolf. Kodya unwrapped his first bundle more slowly, his stomach churning with faint nausea from the upheaval his body had just endured. He forced down his first few bites, but once they went down and stayed down, he found that he was ravenous too, his body crying to replenish its depleted resources.

Gyrus finished a little before Kodya, already looking perkier from the influx of food. He stayed quiet until Kodya had finished his portions as well. 

“I’m guessing you want to keep moving?” he asked quietly.

Kodya nodded, his voice much less raspy. “Yeah. We’re so close to being done and getting out of here. Just need to get the Dragonstone and then…” His face dropped in horror as he realized they would likely have to wade back through the nest of draugr they’d barely survived the first time to get out.

The kid shrugged, unconcerned. “Shouldn’t be too hard. There are always back ways out and wraparounds in these places to make sure people of importance could escape if need be.”

Kodya’s shoulders drooped. “I hope you’re right.” He didn’t think he could take much more of this place.

Gyrus rose to his feet, his joints and armor both cracking unhappily. His armor would definitely need some serious repairs and cleaning, maybe even replacement.

“Let’s go get our stuff and find the Dragonstone,” he sighed wearily. “And figure out how to carry it all.” He shuffled over to the ashen remains of the draugr and painfully heaved the stone tablet from the pile. “…I think this is it, actually.”

“Yeah?” Kodya perked up, staring at the scorched slab.

“Yeah. It just needs some cleaning up,” the kid replied. “Farengar said it was supposed to be a map of some kind, and that’s what this is.”

“Makes sense the guardian would be carrying it,” Kodya added, as the kid brought it over for him to look at. The tablet looked like it had been broken into fragments and then painstakingly pieced back together and repaired. Etched on the front was a map of Skyrim, with several points marked, and the same motif that was carved on the metal inset of the wall on the dais. Kodya flipped it over; more of the scratch-like markings similar to what were on the wall were on the back of the tablet. Somehow, a grave feeling hung about it.

“If this isn’t it, that mage can send someone else in to find the right thing,” Kodya declared. “Don’t think it’ll fit in my pocket stone, though.” He tucked the hefty tablet under his arm and carefully levered himself to his feet. He needed to find where his bow had wound up; he’d definitely dropped it when he’d been injured, and… 

His eyes fell on a splintered half of a bow. _ No. _ He stumbled over to it. _ No no no. _ He stooped to pick it up, shaking. _ No! _

The only gift he’d received from his first and only true friend. Gone, just like that. He wanted to scream in rage at the kid for drawing him into this entire mess in the first place, but it wasn’t the kid who’d destroyed his bow. No, all he’d done was kill the draugr who’d done it in the first place.

“Are you okay?” the kid asked concernedly from behind him. Kodya whirled around, breathing heavily and about to snap, but restrained himself before he could begin shouting when the kid flinched back as though he’d been struck, just from seeing the look on Kodya’s face.

Feeling wretched as he cast around for something to say, Kodya finally settled on a strained, “Lost my bow.”

After a few moments, the kid quietly replied, “I’m sorry. It must have meant a lot to you.”

Kodya grunted. “Not your fault it was broken.” He spotted the other half of the bow, a few feet away, and walked over to pick it up too.

“It’s my fault you’re here in the first place,” the kid mumbled.

Kodya sighed as the pieces of the bow vanished into his inventory. With all the food they’d eaten, it was safe enough to add that much to his pocket stone. “If I was completely dead-set against coming, kid, I would have gotten myself out of it.”

“…I thought you were.”

“I was _ very _against it, not completely.”

“Oh.”

Kodya sighed and sat on a protruding rock as he watched Gyrus shuffle around, trying to find and gather his things. With low shoulders, the kid brought over a bundle of cloth and paper and set it next to Kodya. On top of the small pile was the golden claw and a small coin purse.

“This is all I could find,” he said, a little despondently. “Lost some things, like Arvel’s journal and my quill. The ink bottle shattered; I think I stepped on it earlier. Just my clothes, map, and personal journal, pretty much…”

“I’m guessing your bag is unusable now?” Kodya asked. 

Gyrus unhooked it from his back and set it next to the pile of his belongings that even by Kodya’s standards was pitifully small. His bag had a massive hole torn in the side, though the waterskin hooked to the bag was still intact. Well, that answered that.

Gyrus unhooked the waterskin and moved it to his belt. “I know it’s not much, but carrying it in my arms doesn’t seem safe, not while we’re still in here.”

“What happened to your sword?”

Gyrus shook his head. “No better than scrap metal.”

“And you’ve got no magicka. You’re defenseless. I at least have knives,” Kodya assessed, putting off the item-carrying problem for a moment. He looked thoughtfully at the discarded axe by the ash pile.

Gyrus followed his gaze and blanched. “I don’t know how to wield a battleaxe!” he protested. “I might hit you, or even myself!”

“At least you could block unfriendly attacks with it while I finish any enemies off with my knives,” Kodya pointed out.

Gyrus made a face. “Fine,” he conceded sullenly as he grabbed the battleaxe. When he brought it into better lighting, though, his face twisted with disgust and horror. Kodya couldn’t blame him, chills running up his spine as he saw white-flecked bits clinging to pink and red coating the blade.

_ That’s me_, Kodya thought, shivering. _ That’s what the guardian circle replaced. _

“No,” Gyrus squeaked, dropping the axe to the floor with a _ clang_. “No thanks!”

Kodya made a repulsed face as he leaned forward, the skin and scabs on his right breast stretching, and grabbed the axe. “It’s a perfectly good weapon,” he reasoned, his voice shaky. “Just… needs some cleaning.”

The kid made an aggravated noise. “Seriously?!”

“Getting you killed because we’re squeamish is stupid,” Kodya deadpanned, his voice a stronger as he withdrew his blade kit from his pocket stone. “Why don’t you figure out how to hold your belongings and the Dragonstone while I clean this?”

The kid’s face cycled through a number of unpleasant emotions. “Why don’t _ you _use it then?”

“Because I’m far better with knives than a battleaxe and I’ll be doing the bulk of the fighting here on out,” Kodya rebutted as he set to work. Even though just touching the damn thing made his skin crawl. He could understand why the kid didn’t want to use it, honestly, but leaving it behind was worse. 

The kid groaned but offered no verbal protest otherwise as he messed with his belongings. Aside from the rustle of cloth and the scrape of stone, things between them were quiet for several minutes. Kodya forcefully banished all thoughts of how he’d almost died, focusing only on the mechanical movements as he cleaned the weapon.

Finally, Gyrus said, “I think this will work.”

Kodya looked up from the axe. Gyrus was holding up his knapsack. Cloth protruded from the rent in the shape of the Dragonstone. “What did you do?”

“One of my tunics was ruined by the axe,” Gyrus explained, “So I wrapped everything in it and used it as a lining for the bag.”

Kodya nodded. “That’ll work, but not for long,” he assessed. “You’ll need a new bag, as soon as we can get one.”

Gyrus nodded. “Let’s try to make it back to Riverwood?” he suggested. “We can rest in safety, and buy what supplies we need tomorrow.”

Kodya glanced toward the ceiling. The yellow of the sunlight had deepened, as had the angle of the shadows. “Depends on if we can make it out of here in good time, and if we’re close enough to the village,” he concluded. With a final, quick check of the axe, he held it out to Gyrus, along with a strip of leather. “Here, see if you can hook this to your back.”

The kid grimaced and defiantly shouldered his pack first before taking the axe. Kodya busied himself putting away his kit and making sure they weren’t leaving anything important behind while the kid sorted himself out. Once Kodya was sure they were ready to go, he turned to Gyrus.

“Ready,” the kid announced, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot a little. The handle of the axe stuck up from behind one of his shoulders. 

Kodya nodded. “Which way do you think we should go?” The kid wasn’t the most reliable, but at least he knew his way around ruins.

Gyrus pointed to a staircase on the left side of the dais which led up past the carved stone wall to an elevated cavern. “Up there would be a good bet,” he identified, “But it’s possible there’s a mechanism on or around the dais for a hidden passage, too. I’ll look around the dais, you go upstairs?”

Kodya eyed the staircase warily. It ran near a waterfall, so who knew how slippery those steps were? He still wasn’t feeling entirely steady, either. Still, better him than the clumsy kid to go up first.

“Sounds fine,” he acquiesced. “If you need to come up here, I’ll warn you if the stairs are dangerous.”

The kid nodded wordlessly and headed for the dais. Kodya, meanwhile, went to the left side of the chamber, ascended to the level of the dais, and then cautiously climbed the staircase, one step at a time. He made sure to test each step for traction before putting his weight on it. Most of the steps were okay, but a few were water-slick, and a handful were worn to slopes instead of steps from use and the passage of time. At the top of the staircase was a lit magic brazier, leading to a cave-like tunnel.

“Hey, kid?” he called.

“Yeah?” came the echoing response from below.

“There’s a tunnel up here, I’m going to check it out. Anything down there?”

“Nothing like a switch, but there are a few things I’m looking through!”

“Alright. If you come up, be careful of the steps! Some of them are slippery or worn away!”

“Got it!”

Kodya retrieved and lit the second-to-last torch in his inventory. It was a good thing the ruin had been so well-lit, to preserve their supply. He cautiously entered the dark tunnel, which sloped up to a dead end occupied only by a metal pedestal. Holding the torch high for light, Kodya saw that some sort of handle had been installed on the pedestal. There looked to be no traps attached to the pedestal, and his draugr amulet was cold and dark. Cautiously, he triggered the handle, pulling it up from its cradle and turning it. With a scrape of stone on stone, a section of the rock wall lid upward, revealing another passage. A breeze of fresh air wafted from the opening.

Kodya nodded, a small smile playing across his lips; this had to be a secret escape tunnel of the kind Gyrus had described. He backtracked to the main chamber and saw that Gyrus was already halfway up the staircase.

The kid looked up as Kodya peered from the top of the staircase. “Find anything?” he called.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure this is the way out!”

The kid’s face brightened at the promise of an exit, and he hurried up the staircase the rest of the way a little too quickly for Kodya’s taste. But he managed it without slipping or falling.

“Which way?”

“Just through here,” Kodya pointed. “Pretty straightforward, really.” Holding the torch, he took the lead back to the pedestal, with Gyrus behind him. “So, what did you find?”

“Treasure chest,” the kid dropped.

Kodya spun around. “Really? What was in it? Did you take anything?”

“Old gold, and some ancient spell scrolls. Only one of them was still intact. I took that one, but left everything else,” the kid revealed.

Kodya really wanted to shake the kid by the shoulders. “And you didn’t think to take the gold?” he demanded.

The kid glowered at him. “Last I checked, ancient gold is _ still _mostly useless, and we don’t have room to carry it,” he reminded. “I thought we discussed this with the last chest?”

Kodya groaned. Honestly, it was like the kid had little to no sense for the value of money and treasure. Though the kid had little to no sense with just about everything else, so why _ shouldn’t _he be an idiot with money? At least Kodya had the emerald and garnet he’d swiped from the first chest, he consoled himself.

Kodya pointed out the pillar with the handle to open the passage. Gyrus smiled, seeming to notice the draft of fresh air as well, and motioned for Kodya and his torch to take the lead. They followed a winding passage, the fresh air growing stronger, until they came to a sudden drop. Kodya flung out his hand to keep Gyrus from walking over the edge, then tossed the nearly-spent torch down to test how far the drop was.

Not far at all, as it turned out – barely the height of a man. Carefully, using the torch to judge his landing, Kodya knelt and propelled himself down, just before the torch went out. In the darkness, he heard Gyrus jump down after him – reckless, he could have accidentally jumped into Kodya – and retrieved and lit his last torch.

“Look,” Gyrus said softly, pointing to one side of the tunnel. Inset into the alcove was a small altar, holding a human skull surrounded by a wreath of flowers. The altar _ had _to be enchanted, for the flowers and skull to last for so long.

“Creepy,” the kid murmured. “Wonder what that was for?”

Kodya shook his head. “Who knows. C’mon, I think we’re getting close.”

Their footsteps quickened as they continued through the passage as it sloped up again, and then—

Sky.

* * *

“We made it,” Kodya sighed blissfully, sounding relieved.

“We’re alive!” Gyrus exclaimed joyfully, holding his face in his hands while tears prickled his eyes. He closed his eyes and just _ breathed_, basking in the clean scents of water and living things to clean out all the rock and dirt and decay of the ruin. Then he looked skyward, thanking Akatosh that he had survived to see the stars again. Though he was a bit disappointed they hadn’t managed to make it out before the sun had set, he was just glad to be out of there.

They were standing on a short cliff, a few stories above ground. Moonlight glinted off a large body of water in the distance and the silhouettes of packed trees closer by. Gyrus wasn’t sure where they’d emerged, but at least they were _ out_. 

“Let’s get out of here,” he proposed. “I want to sleep in a warm bed tonight.”

Kodya nodded approvingly, a fleeting grin on his lips. “I might be able to figure out where we are once we get down from here.” He approached the cliff edge and walked side to side, looking down. A bit to the right of the cave exit, he gestured for Gyrus to join him. 

“Here is probably our best bet to get down,” he declared, gesturing down to a series of sloping ledges that would be simple to slide down. “I’ll go first, you watch and follow, alright?”

“Wait!” Gyrus objected. He took off his torn pack and handed it to Kodya. “Probably safer with you.”

Kodya stared at him for a moment before nodding. Clutching the pack to his chest with one arm, instead of flinging it over his shoulder, he stepped over the lip of the cliff, letting his boots slow his fall and his free arm touching the cliff to balance. Despite the huntsman’s recent injury and evident exhaustion, he still somehow looked graceful as he made it down. At the bottom, Kodya waved to show he’d made it safely, then stepped aside in a clear invitation.

Gyrus steeled his jaw bravely and, hoping he wouldn’t end up tripping and falling headfirst down the cliff, stepped off the ledge and started sliding down. He made it about halfway down okay, using both arms to balance, but then one of his feet slipped out from under him and he fell on his back. The axe on his back screeched in protest as it scraped down the stone, and he flung his arms out wide to keep from spinning, and—

He was at the bottom, unharmed, blinking up at an unimpressed Kodya.

The man sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “At least you’re still in one piece,” he grumbled before holding out a hand to haul Gyrus up. “Let’s hope nothing curious, hungry, or both heard that racket.”

Gyrus nodded wearily, embarrassed, as he was hauled to his feet and his bag was returned. He fell quiet as Kodya led the way downhill towards the water they’d seen higher, above the trees. Kodya expertly guided them through the trees, finding a path where there was none, down to the edge of the water. The coolness wafting from the water was relaxing.

“I know this area,” Kodya murmured. “I’ve hunted in this area before. Not in this specific location, but… we’re somewhere on the north shore of Lake Ilinalta, west of Riverwood.”

“Do you think we could make it back to Riverwood tonight?” Gyrus asked hopefully.

Kodya shook his head unhappily. “No way, not on foot. We’ll have to camp out.”

Gyrus’s shoulders slumped. “Oh.”

“We can start heading back, though,” Kodya offered. “Even if we can’t make it the full way, we could get started.”

Gyrus nodded morosely. Despite the lingering ache in his core from forcing a magicka drain, and the associated exhaustion, he wanted to be as far away from the ruin as possible.

The two of them kept to the shoreline, walking east with drooping limbs and heavy footsteps. Gyrus fell into a sleepy daze as he forced one foot in front of the other, following the huntsman’s path navigating around bushes, outcroppings of rock, and boot-sucking waterlogged sand. He paid no attention to anything other than keeping up with Kodya’s ever-moving back until he noticed a light farther up the lake, not far.

“What’s…?”

Kodya grunted. “Hunting camp, probably. Could be a good place to spend the night.”

With a goal in mind, they trudged the remaining distance to the light, which they could see came from a campfire as they got closer. Gyrus squinted and could see only one figure around the fire, but that didn’t mean there weren’t others.

Kodya hailed the person by the campfire as they drew close, “Hello?”

The person looked up at them as they entered the circle of light from the campfire. Everything was fine for a moment, but then the person let off a high-pitched scream and scrambled towards an unstrung bow resting against a log a few feet away.

“Stop! We just want to talk!” Kodya thundered, lunging for the weapon. 

The person – a bearded human male – yelled back, “I don’t talk with vampires!”

They didn’t look that bad, did they? Gyrus looked between himself and Kodya, who was wrestling for the bow with the other man, and concluded that they did indeed look _ that bad_, with both of them coated in dirt and dried blood from mostly-healed injuries and pale from exhaustion. 

Gyrus sighed before walking up to the two struggling men. “Stop it, please. Look, sir, we’re not vampires. Look at my teeth!” Gyrus hooked two fingers under his upper lip and pulled it back so the man could get a good look.

The man squinted at him, then stopped fighting. “Aye, I’ll grant that you don’t have the teeth nor strength of a vampire. But what are you doing wandering around looking like _ that_? You scared the living daylights out of me!”

Gyrus opened his mouth to respond truthfully, but Kodya cut him off. “Hunting,” Kodya replied smoothly. “We had a bit of an accident with a wild boar. Damn thing bled all over the place while alive, and then _ this _one mucked up the bleeding. The hide was ruined, and all the trouble rewarded us with meat that had gone cold and bad before we could get to it. Lost a good bit of our supplies in the process, too.”

The man whistled. “Some bad luck you’ve got there, friend. Come warm yourselves by the fire.”

At the invitation, Gyrus approached the fire as close as he dared and sank down with an exhausted moan. “Sorry for scaring you,” he apologized as he let warmth creep into limbs chilled by night and exhaustion.

The man snorted as he replaced the bow on the log. “Must’ve been some boar.”

Kodya joined Gyrus by the fire. “It was.”

The man squinted at Kodya’s face, now in better light, before bursting into a grin. “By the Divines, is that you, Karevic?”

Kodya blinked and took a second look at the man. “Iveris, that you?”

“The one and only!” The man laughed heartily and slapped Kodya on the back. “I knew I recognized that scarred face!”

Kodya touched the scar over his eye self-consciously before dropping his hand. “Yeah.”

“What brings you all the way out here?” Iveris asked companionably, sitting on the other side of the fire. “Thought you’d headed north, for the business in Whiterun.”

“Had something to take care of down here,” Kodya mumbled, his head dropping tiredly. “Got a bit sidetracked.”

“‘A bit,’ he says, looking like he just crawled out of his own grave. Must’ve been a mess.”

Gyrus looked-down self-consciously, wincing from the wording. “Big mess,” he mumbled, feeling a little uncomfortable keeping the lie up. “We just want to get to Riverwood, early as we can.”

“Hm.” Iveris chewed his lip thoughtfully. “Riverwood, eh? If you lads have some coin to spare or goods to barter, I might be able to offer a solution.”

Gyrus looked up as Kodya asked, “What solution?”

“I was planning to go to Riverwood soon myself, sell some of my goods. Got my boat all stocked and ready,” Iveris explained.

“Boat?” Gyrus echoed, perking up.

“Aye. She’ll take us to Riverwood within a couple of hours. Was planning on going later, and during the day, but hey,” he shrugged nonchalantly, “Won’t be the first time I’ve made the trip at night.”

Gyrus excitedly glanced at Kodya before looking back at the other man. Maybe they could get to Riverwood tonight after all! “How much?” he asked.

The man’s eyes gleamed as he opened his mouth to respond, but Kodya cut him off and said, “I’ll handle this. Kid, why don’t you go and… try to get cleaned up or something.”

Gyrus sighed, disheartened by the blatant dismissal, but tiredly stood to leave earshot while the two men haggled.

* * *

“Lake’s pretty peaceful at night!” Iveris remarked cheerfully, two seats behind Gyrus. “And the river ahead is, too. Well, mostly…”

“Mostly?” Kodya muttered from the seat directly behind Gyrus. The huntsman was in an irritable mood, probably because he still wasn’t too happy with whatever deal he’d made to get passage for both himself and Gyrus.

“Just follow my instructions and everything will be fine, kinsman,” Iveris replied dismissively. 

Gyrus honestly didn’t care _ what _he had to do at this point to get to the soft bed waiting for him in Riverwood. At least he was enjoying the boat ride, occasionally letting his fingers dip into the water and watching the ripples forming as they moved forward. Though he’d learned to swim in ponds near Shor’s Stone, he’d never actually been on a boat before.

They were going at about double walking speed, too slow to make it to Riverwood in the time Iveris had specified, but Iveris assured them that their speed would pick up once they entered the river, which had a faster current to push them to their destination. At least he and Kodya didn’t have to do much rowing to maintain their speed, given their sorry conditions.

Iveris, at the back of the boat, instructed them to put away their oars when they reached the mouth of the river. Apparently, he would need to steer without any misdirection from their oars. But Gyrus’s confusion about the request faded as they entered the river, where the current tugged them forward at almost a dizzying speed. He gripped the sides of the boat, trusting the Iveris knew what he was doing. It was pretty fun, actually.

“Alright, lads! I’m going to need you to grip the sides of the boat with your hands, lock your legs around the benches, and lean back towards me!” Iveris called without warning.

“Oi, what in Oblivion is this supposed to—”

“Just do as I say, Karevic!”

Gyrus followed the man’s instructions, bracing himself in the boat and leaning back, a little into Kodya. It was almost like Iveris didn’t want them to fall out, or—

He heard it, the sound of water rushing over a precipice. A waterfall! Oh, gods, there was no time to turn around, or get out—

They went over the lip, Gyrus yelling and keeping his muscles locked tight. They hit the water below quickly, plunging beneath the surface, Gyrus praying—

The front of the boat dipped back up and they broke the surface, soaked but steady. Gyrus couldn’t move from shock, but Kodya had no problems, heaving himself upright and pushing Gyrus off him while tearing into Iveris.

“What the _ fuck _was that?! You nearly got us dashed against the rocks, or drowned, or—”

But Iveris was laughing. “Oh, you should look at yourselves! This boat has a special charm on it to make it hard to sink! You didn’t notice that all my goods were lashed to the bottom in waxed oilskin?”

Gyrus tuned out Kodya’s fury. He wondered where this man had acquired such a boat, but decided it didn’t matter as he forced his body to relax. That… had actually been fun.

* * *

Another, smaller waterfall and three sets of rapids later, they’d docked safely in Riverwood, even before midnight. Though they hadn’t really bathed, being soaked a number of times had washed away some of the blood and grime on him and Kodya, so they looked slightly more presentable, if wet.

Kodya looked glad to be on dry ground as he quickly whisked Gyrus away from Iveris, who still seemed amused. He only managed to call out a short “thank you!” before they were in the village proper.

“If I never have to set foot on that man’s boat again, it will be too soon,” Kodya grumbled, slumping once he’d deemed they were far enough away. “Let’s get to the inn and rent a room. Let’s just hope we have enough money to pay for it.”

“I know someone who could help,” Gyrus piped up. “We might be able to stay somewhere for free.”

Kodya looked at him in disbelief for a moment before gesturing for Gyrus to lead. Gyrus led him to Alvor’s house and knocked, hoping that the man or his wife would be awake. Or at least, not too upset with Gyrus for coming to them in such a sorry, bedraggled state.

After a few moments, Alvor opened the door in his nightclothes, scowling fiercely with an axe in hand barely visible beyond the door. Gyrus ‘eeped’ and stepped back, but Alvor’s expression morphed to surprise when he saw who was on his doorstep.

“Gyrus!” he exclaimed. “What in the world are you doing on my doorstep this time of night, and in such a state, besides? I thought you were heading home!”

Gyrus nodded miserably. “I was, until Balgruuf sent me on another task in this area. Please, my friend and I are _ beyond _exhausted. We just need to stay for a night, that’s all.”

The blacksmith hesitated as he took in their battered, bedraggled forms. Then he opened the door fully to admit them inside. Sigrid was anxiously hovering inside, and she paled when she laid eyes on Gyrus and Kodya.

“Take _ all _ your gear off before you get past our entryway. You’re both a mess, one that I wouldn’t want to spread all over for the missus. Heat some water for them to wash themselves with, won’t you, dear? These two look like they’ve had quite a terrible time, whatever they’ve been up to.”

She nodded wordlessly, concern shining in her eyes as Gyrus unselfconsciously began to strip off his armor and bare the injuries that remained on him, too tired to care about the eyes on him. “Of course,” she replied before hurrying out back.

“Gyrus,” the blacksmith started firmly, drawing his attention. “The soldiers did come from the Jarl, barely a day before you arrived. Their protection is sorely needed. _ Thank you _for passing along the message. Riverwood is indebted to you. I offer my house for you and your friend to stay in, for a few days, if need be. You look like you’ve been to Oblivion and back. I’ll even clean and do small repairs on your gear, if you’ll tell me what this is all about tomorrow.”

Gyrus slumped in relief, exhaustion hitting him all at once from the verbal confirmation of shelter. He fought to keep from collapsing on the floor then and there. “We won’t stay long. We need to hurry back to Whiterun. It’s an urgent thing, about the dragons… I’ll explain tomorrow. Thank you, thank you so much for letting us stay.” He’d stripped bare by that point, aside from blood-crusted underclothes. Kodya was still half-dressed, wary to trust but too tired to object or resist.

“You’ve proven yourself a true friend. Go, wash up and rest. You need it. We’ll talk tomorrow,” Alvor said, pointing him to the backdoor.

Gyrus was so exhausted, he didn’t care that the water was only half-heated, or that Sigrid barely made it back inside before he stripped and discarded his underclothes. He didn’t care when he was joined by an equally naked Kodya, solely focused on rubbing as much blood and dirt from his bruised and scraped skin as he could. He didn’t care when Sigrid came back outside to deliver two sets of nightclothes, and he didn’t care that his skin was still wet when he donned his. He trodded back inside, allowed himself to be guided to a bed, and was asleep before his head even hit the pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember to leave a comment and/or kudos if you enjoyed! Also, we wound up making a minor switch with regards to formatting, and previous chapters have been tweaked to reflect this.
> 
> Enchantments: magic that has been imbued in an object using an enchanter's table which grants it properties or abilities beyond the norm. Depending on the quality of the enchantment, it can be temporary or permanent. Different kinds of objects cannot be enchanted with all the same enchantments - rules for this will be explained later. 
> 
> The Companions: An honored group of mostly Nordic warriors based in Whiterun who strive to uphold the combat traditions of their forefathers of honorable, glorious battle. Oftentimes they are tasked with killing monsters.
> 
> Spell scrolls: Spells written in runic form with enough stored magicka to avoid drawing from the user's own reserves. There are several methods to activate these, but a common method is to complete an incomplete "activation" rune with ink. Or blood...
> 
> Vampires: exist across Tamriel. Bloodsuckers with power over humans, they are known and feared. Several different clans exist.


	11. Road to Whiterun Redux

Gyrus awoke with groan, the various aches from his venture into the ruins making themselves known. If he had thought waking up after Helgen was bad, it turned out it was nothing compared to waking up after trekking through an old Nord ruin, fighting draugr, and draining his magicka. Although his body wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep for a week, Gyrus painstakingly forced himself to sit up and rub his eyes, trying to clear the last dregs of slumber from his system.

“Good morning!”

Gyrus yelped in surprise and jolted fully awake. Whipping his head towards the source of the noise, he was met with a sheepish-looking Dorthe sitting by the hearth with a book. Seeing as it wasn’t a bandit or draugr or some other type of threat, Gyrus tried to will his racing heart to slow down.

“Dorthe!” the girl’s mother scolded firmly in a whisper, giving her daughter a pointed look.

“Sorry,” Dorthe apologized quietly with a wince. 

“ ‘S no problem,” Gyrus assured, yawning. “Good morning.” He guessed that it was late morning, encroaching on midday, based on the light filtering through the windows. Considering everything that happened in the ruins, on top of depleting all his magicka fighting the draugr, he wasn’t surprised in the least. Glancing at the bed next to his, Gyrus was also unsurprised to see Kodya still deeply asleep. Debating for a moment whether or not to wake the huntsman, Gyrus opted to let him sleep. After nearly dying from the draugr’s axe, only surviving because of that spell scroll they’d luckily still had, Kodya definitely needed the rest.

Although he wanted to burrow back under the warm furs, Gyrus forced himself to leave the comfort and warmth of the bed. He winced when his bare feet touched the cold floor and tried to locate his bag and clothes. He had a brief moment of panic when he realized that he couldn’t remember where he placed his bag, but thankfully was quick to spot it leaning against a chest at the foot of the bed. Grabbing his bag, he forced his aching body to stand and walk towards the cellar, remembering Sigrid telling him he could change down there the last time he was in the house. He quickly dressed in one of his extra shirts and tunics along with pants and mismatched socks, having somehow lost one of each pair when his bag was ripped open. Folding the lent clothing, he ascended the stairs.

“Thank you again for letting me and my friend stay here,” Gyrus said to Sigrid, returning the nightwear. 

“After what you did for us, delivering the message to the Jarl, it’s the least we can do,” Sigrid replied, pausing from her sewing to take the clothing. 

“I’m just glad I could help,” Gyrus said earnestly. “It was important that the Jarl know about the danger threatening his hold.” The mere thought of Riverwood being left in ruins like Helgen sent a chill down his spine. He forcefully banished the image and tried to think of anything else, which was when he realized he hadn’t seen his armor by his bag when he’d woken. 

“Do you happen to know where my armor is? I’m afraid I can’t recall where I left it,” Gyrus asked.

Sigrid nodded. “Alvor is making repairs to both yours and your friend’s armor. Both sets were in rather rough shape… I almost fear to ask what you both faced that did all that damage.”

Unbidden, flashes of the harrowing fight against the draugr in the final chamber of Bleak Falls Barrow invaded his mind. He shuddered as he remembered the painful chill of the enchanted axe leaving searing coats of frost on his skin. He shook his head. “A type of foe I hope to never have to face again…” Gyrus mumbled, tightening his grip on his pack, the bulky shape of the Dragonstone reassuring him that the ordeal was over and done with.

“What was it?” Dorthe asked eagerly, book forgotten in favor of listening to the conversation. “Was it the dragon? Oh, was it _ another _ dragon?”

“Dorthe!”

Gyrus shifted on his feet uncomfortably. Draugr were no dragon but, gods, did they pose a threat of their own. “Er… it wasn’t a dragon,” he awkwardly answered. “It was a draugr.” Gyrus could tell from the growing excitement on her face that Dorthe now had a dozen more questions, but before the girl could say anything, her mother cut in.

“Dorthe, why don’t you go get your father? I'm sure Gyrus would rather not have to retell everything twice,” Sigrid told her daughter.

With an exaggerated huff, Dorthe set aside her book and rose from where she was seated by the hearth. “Yes, mother,” she grumbled, exiting the house. 

Once the door shut, Sigrid sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Gods, that girl could talk the ears off a bard, I swear…” She shifted the clothing she was mending, which Gyrus realized was the shirt he wore under his armor. “I apologize; I specifically told her to not to pester you or your friend with questions.”

“I don’t mind, really,” Gyrus assured. “I’ll probably be swamped with similar questions from my younger siblings when I return home.”

She gave him a sympathetic look. “May Akatosh give you strength and patience.”

“I’ve been gone so long, I think they might end up having to tell _ me _ to stop talking instead of the other way around,” Gyrus remarked with a light chuckle. “I have _ so much _ I want to tell them about when I was in Cyrodiil. It is very different than Skyrim, so much greenery. Even though I was seeing it from afar in the mountains, I don’t think I’ve seen that much green before in my life,” he reminisced before he remembered his present situation. “Ah, sorry, I didn’t mean to ramble.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Sigrid assured with a dismissive wave as she continued to mend the shirt. “It’s not too often anything interesting happens in Riverwood.”

“Shor’s Stone is the same. Though I have to say, I’ve more than had my fill of adventure these last few days. I wouldn’t mind a bit of boring—” Gyrus was cut off as the door was flung open with a loud _ bang_, startling him. 

“_Dorthe!_” 

The girl in question winced at the reprimand. “Oops…”

Sigrid sighed heavily, placing her head in her hands. Gyrus could just barely make out her mutter “_Divines preserve me…_” under her breath, too quiet for anyone further away to hear. As Dorthe opened her mouth to speak, a tired groan sounded from across the room. 

“I think your friend is waking up,” Dorthe pointed out in a much quieter voice, slightly abashed.

_ Kodya’s awake, _ Gyrus thought, perking up slightly. He quietly walked over to the bed with Dorthe who, curious about the other adventurer, was not far behind him. When Gyrus made his way to the huntsman’s bedside, he was met with groggy eyes and a confused frown as the huntsman slowly woke up. 

“Kid?” Kodya mumbled tiredly.

“Morning,” Gyrus greeted, although it was long past dawn. “How are you feeling?”

Kodya hesitated a second before replying, “A bit sore, but it won’t be an issue.” He slowly forced himself to sit up. Seeing the tightness in the huntsman’s jaw and the stiffness of his movements, Gyrus could tell the other was feeling more than just a bit sore, but he kept quiet about it, knowing that it would be futile to argue the matter with the stubborn Nord. Once Kodya was upright, he looked around and frowned. “Kid, I thought you said it was morning.”

“Okay, it may be a bit later…” Gyrus confessed sheepishly.

Kodya pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “This certainly sets us behind, for getting back to Whiterun.”

Gyrus was unsurprised Kodya’s first concern was about their mission. “We could still likely make it back today,” Gyrus offered, remembering his previous trip. 

“The earliest we’d get there is roughly sundown, and that’s only if we left right now,” Kodya determined as he stiffly got out of the bed. “Which obviously won’t be the case since we need to restock on supplies… and get replacements for our weapons,” he added the last part almost mournfully. 

Gyrus winced at the reminder of the huntsman’s destroyed bow, which had obviously meant a lot to him. Although Kodya didn’t blame him for it, Gyrus still couldn’t help but feel guilty. He should have been quicker to prevent the draugr from even getting near enough to Kodya that he’d needed to resort to using his bow to block the draugr’s axe… 

But it was over and done with. Thinking of what he should have done in retrospect wouldn’t change anything. He turned his attention back to the conversation. “Should we spend a day here to rest and resupply before heading out tomorrow morning?”

Kodya shook his head as he securely adjusted the wristband housing his pocket stone. “Let’s get back to Whiterun as soon as we are able. We shouldn’t travel long after dark, though; even the safest roads become treacherous at night. We can make camp if it comes to that.”

Gyrus nodded. Even if they couldn’t make the full journey to Whiterun that day, it would be good to cover some distance. Plus, he would feel bad for taking advantage of the hospitality from Alvor’s household for any longer, after everything they’d already done. He honestly hadn’t expected them to mend his clothes and equipment.

The front door to the house opened again and Alvor strode in, wiping his hands on a rag that he tucked into his belt. “Sorry to keep you lads waiting,” he said. “Had to finish up with something in the forge.”

Gyrus shook his head. “It’s no problem.”

“Why don’t you two sit at the table and I’ll get you something to eat?” Sigrid suggested. “You can explain things over a meal.”

Gyrus nodded. “That sounds wonderful.”

In short order, he and Kodya were seated at the table with full meals in front of them. There was no talk for the first few minutes, as the blacksmith’s family waited patiently while Gyrus and Kodya hungrily downed the food they’d been offered. Once Gyrus slowed down enough to breathe, he started to explain the basics of what he’d been up to when he’d last left Riverwood a few days ago, with occasional interjections from Kodya. He gave a short explanation of how he’d met Kodya and the reception he’d received in Whiterun, and explained how he and Kodya had been hired to fetch an important object from Bleak Falls Barrow, leaving out what it was or why it was important. He spent a little more time narrating their exploration of the ruin, with Dorthe excitedly peppering them with questions and even quiet curiosity from Alvor and Sigrid, though he glossed over the details of the final fight with the draugr warlord, not wanting to linger on the memory. He ended with a short mention of the boat ride they had taken to return to Riverwood so quickly from the ruins.

Alvor sat back in his chair, stroking his beard. “I must admit, my friends, you have endured quite the ordeal,” he said. “No wonder your armor was so badly damaged. I am certainly glad you decided to come to my doorstep last night, instead of dragging yourselves over to the inn.”

“It sounds amazing,” Dorthe breathed. Her mother shot her a disconcerted look.

“We’re very grateful that you made room for us on such short notice at such a late hour,” Gyrus said. Kodya made a noise of agreement. “And for repairing our equipment. You didn’t have to work on our armor.”

“Nonsense!” Alvor rebuked. “At the very least, for your armor, Gyrus, I would have made sure to clean all the blood off, to avoid further damage to the leather. I did more, though, because I wanted to. The battle damage … I patched it up with sturdy leather cord, but these areas of the armor will be weaker. And for your armor, huntsman…” Alvor hesitated. “It is not much armor at all. It is better than nothing, but if you find yourself with some funds, you would be well-served purchasing something that provides more protection. But I still mended the damage that I could.”

Kodya blinked. “Thank you,” he replied uncertainly. “How much will this cost us?”

“Nothing. Consider it payment for succeeding in bringing the soldiers Riverwood needs,” Alvor responded.

“Thank you so much,” Gyrus said quietly. “We are in your debt.”

Alvor shook his head. “It appears as though you needed it,” he remarked.

“Is our armor ready to take?” Kodya asked.

Alvor shook his head. “No, unfortunately not. I am close to finishing with your armors, but I still have a little more work to do.”

Knowing Kodya would be dissatisfied if they just sat around while waiting for Alvor to finish with the armor, Gyrus chewed his lip before suggesting, “We could stop by the Riverwood Trader’s while we’re waiting for the armor? We could return that claw, and see if we can get any supplies while we’re there.”

Kodya nodded. “That sounds like an excellent idea. Where can I dress?”

* * *

The bell above the door of the Riverwood Trader chimed as Gyrus and Kodya entered the shop. Thankfully, they hadn’t walked in on an argument this time, though the unpleasant atmosphere, from the two siblings glaring at each other from opposite sides of the shop, was hardly any better.

The shopkeep raised an eyebrow when he spotted Gyrus. “Well, now! I didn’t expect to see you back so soon!” he greeted. “Couldn’t get my merchandise out of your mind, eh?”

“Had to come back to Riverwood for some business,” Gyrus replied vaguely. “And we, ah, found something that we think belongs to this shop. Are you Lucan Valerius?”

“Sure am!” the man confirmed, straightening attentively. 

Gyrus cautiously slung his torn bag around and set it on the counter. He pulled the claw out and set it next to his bag.

Valerius gaped. “T-the golden claw!” he exclaimed. 

Gyrus jumped and turned when he heard a loud scraping behind him, but it was only Valerius’s sister hurrying forward to see the claw for herself. He only barely caught Valerius’s question of, “How in Oblivion did you get this?”

“Oh, ah—”

“Bandits,” Kodya cut in smoothly. “We ran into some and ended up routing them. This was left behind.”

“The only place you could have gotten this was at Bleak Falls Barrow,” Valerius’s sister stated sharply. “I tracked where those bandits had gone and they hadn’t come down from that mountain since they got the claw. What were you doing at that godsforsaken place?”

“Now now, Camilla,” Valerius chided pointedly. “Don’t go prying into the affairs of strangers, especially when they’ve done us a great service. We should be thanking them, not questioning them.”

Camilla’s jaw clenched, but she sighed and the, “Yes, brother,” that followed was a lot less sullen than Gyrus was expecting. “Thank you.”

“Indeed, thank you!” Valerius exclaimed, picking up the golden claw to examine. “This is undoubtedly my stolen golden claw. Strange… it seems smaller than I remember. Funny thing, huh? I’m going to put this back where it belongs. I’ll never forget this. You’ve done a great thing for me and my sister!” Valerius reverently lifted the golden claw and placed it on a small shelf, just below head height. “Now then, a great deed deserves a great reward! Now, I was going to just give a sum of three gold to whoever brought back the claw, but…” Valerius trailed off as he eyed Gyrus’s ripped, pathetic-looking pack. “Tell you what, you lads look like you’re in need of supplies. I’ll give you all the goods you pick out for free, up to a value of three gold, and if your total sum is less than three gold I’ll give whatever’s left in coin. How does that sound?”

Gyrus nodded. At the very least, it would save them some coin shuffling. “I’m fine with it. Kodya?”

The huntsman watched Valerius with a piercing gaze for a moment before he responded. “It’s alright, so long as the prices are fair.”

Valerius puffed up indignantly. “Of course they’ll be fair!”

Kodya dipped his head in acknowledgment, but Gyrus had no doubt the hunter would be quietly assessing the value of the items himself. 

“Well then, if there are no more objections,” Valerius continued, “I do believe I have just the thing to start you off.” He bent down towards the corner of the store and heaved a large, sturdy leather pack onto the counter. “It looks like you sorely need this, friend.”

Gyrus tested the leather and then peered inside. There was more than enough space for his belongings, and the leather was more durable than his current pack. The Dragonstone would be more protected, too.

“This will work out perfectly,” Gyrus confirmed, pulling the new pack just a little closer.

“All yours, then,” Valerius said magnanimously. Gyrus wasted no time moving his belongings to the new bag. There was a lot of space left over, but that just left more room for supplies.

“Now, what else can I do for you lads?”

* * *

Gyrus happily snuggled deeper into his new woolen traveling cloak as he and Kodya made the short walk back to Alvor’s. While his new pack felt bulkier and heavier than his old one, it was more than large enough to hold his replacement quill and ink (normal ink; Valerius sadly had had no more quick-dry ink), a weak healing potion and medicinal salve like Kodya’s, a few days’ worth of food so he wouldn’t have to completely rely on Kodya, and even a couple torches, just in case. He didn’t have to worry about the Dragonstone falling out of his bag, either.

Kodya’s choices had been fewer but pricier. He had chosen to take Valerius’s other healing potion and a few torches, but it was the replacement bow and restock of arrows that were more costly.

As far as bows went, however, it had been pretty cheap, and the quality of the bow showed it. Kodya was actually testing the bow while they walked with a faint look of disgust on his face. He’d worn a similar look in the shop when he’d first laid eyes on it, and when he’d first seen the low-quality iron arrows.

“Will that bow work out for you?” Gyrus asked, eyeing it dubiously.

Kodya sighed in disgust. “It will do, in a pinch,” he grumbled. “I’ll want to sell this for something more reliable in Whiterun. I’d rather have this than nothing, but I’d never buy something like this otherwise.” 

Gyrus made a soft noise of understanding. “I really am sorry about your bow,” he reiterated quietly.

Kodya huffed. “It’s not your fault. She went out trying to save my life. Probably _ did_, with how long she held out. Long enough for you to get to me. I’m grateful for how she’s served me. It’s going to be a pain to find a new suitable bow.”

Gyrus looked down, still feeling guilty. “Yeah.” They’d managed to keep their choices under the three gold limit, walking away with six extra silver and some bronze, but they would likely wind up spending a good chunk of their remaining funds to replace Gyrus’s weapon at Alvor’s.

Alvor greeted them from the forge outside his house. “Hello, you two,” he called. “Did you find what you needed at Valerius’s?”

“Yeah,” Gyrus replied. “But I still need one more thing – you wouldn’t happen to have any swords for sale, would you?”

Alvor nodded before bending under his workbench and opening a chest. “Well, I can’t say I have very many swords available, given the war,” he began as he withdrew a cloth bundle, “But this is one of my finer pieces. I’ve held onto it for a few years, but… well, you’ll need it more than I will. Not that it’s as fine as anything crafted by a true weaponsmith…” He uncovered a sword in a simple leather sheath and drew it for Gyrus to examine. 

Gyrus took it by the handle and could immediately tell this sword was different than the iron one Alvor had given him days ago. It was a little lighter, with a different color. Gyrus felt the metal and knew immediately that he was holding a steel sword. The stronger and more durable metal couldn’t have been an abundant resource in these parts, and he found himself wondering where Alvor had acquired the steel.

“How much?” Gyrus asked after appraising the weapon. “I can’t just take another sword off your hands.”

Alvor winced. “As much as I’d like to just give it to you, we do need the money,” he admitted. “But… well, with a friend’s discount… nine silvers.”

“That’s a pittance!” Gyrus protested. His father’s swords often sold for well over double that.

Alvor shrugged. “My family can make do with that much. With all the trouble you keep getting into, it sounds like you’ll need it. I won’t take a bronze more for it.”

Gyrus sighed. He wanted to insist on paying more, but he just didn’t have enough funds to pay that much more without borrowing from Kodya, and he didn’t want to infringe on him, either. So with a sigh, he pulled his money pouch from his bag, before he noticed Kodya pulling _ his _out.

“Wait, Kodya!” Gyrus sputtered. “You can’t—”

“Payback,” Kodya explained, holding out three silvers. “For the arrows, back in Whiterun. You won’t have enough without this anyway, right?” It took Gyrus a moment to remember the money he’d given Kodya before they’d gone to Bleak Falls Barrow. He hadn’t thought anything of it, or expected to be paid back at the time. He didn’t particularly want to be paid back either, but… 

Gyrus slumped as he examined the six silvers and handful of bronze in his money pouch. “No,” he admitted reluctantly as he accepted the three silvers. He added his six silvers to them and held out the nine total silvers to Alvor. “Thank you,” he said quietly to Kodya as Alvor handed him the sheath. “And thank you,” he repeated again, a little louder, to Alvor. “I’ll need this.”

Alvor nodded in acknowledgement. “Just don’t break this one within three days of me handing it off to you,” he teased.

“I won’t,” Gyrus promised, hoping that he wouldn’t have to battle any more draugr wielding magically-enhanced weapons, ever. He grimaced slightly at the thought of lugging the axe all the way to Whiterun, even if it would fetch a much better price there.

Alvor gave a small smile. “Pleasure doing business with you,” he stated. “Now, I’m still not done with either of your armor, so perhaps you’d like to see what else Riverwood has to offer? Or, if you help with some of the chores, I’m sure the missus wouldn’t mind feeding you lunch for free later…”

* * *

_ Okay_, Gyrus thought sullenly as he followed a little behind Kodya on the path leading towards Whiterun. _ Free lunch was a good call, and it was very tasty, but I wanted to explore Riverwood a little! _

Not that Kodya had let him go. It was almost as if the huntsman didn’t trust him to look around on his own… 

Gyrus jumped a little when Kodya nudged him, not having noticed the hunter slowing to match his pace. 

“Come on, speed up a bit,” Kodya urged. “We should try to make good time towards Whiterun.”

Gyrus frowned. “We left pretty late,” he pointed out. “I don’t think we _ could _ get there today without horses.”

Kodya nodded. “That is true, but when you’re camping overnight in the plains, it becomes generally less dangerous the closer you get to the city.”

“Oh.”

They walked together in companionable silence for a time. Gyrus breathed deeply, enjoying the calming smells of green and forest. It would have even been a pleasant trip, except for the weight of the axe on his back. Kodya hadn’t had room for it in his pocket stone, and his new bow was slung on his back and left no room for the axe, so that meant Gyrus was stuck carrying it. 

At least they had the Dragonstone. After all the danger they’d faced and then overcome to retrieve it… Gyrus let a warm feeling of pride suffuse him. He’d done well in Bleak Falls Barrow, even better than he’d expected. 

Of course, as well as he’d done, there was no way he could have pulled off getting through the ruin on his own. Kodya had saved his life many times over.

“Thank you,” Gyrus blurted out.

Kodya looked at him, seeming a little taken off-guard. “What?”

“Thank you,” Gyrus repeated, making an effort to sound as sincere as he could. “…For going with me to Bleak Falls Barrow. For sticking to your word, and not abandoning me…” Gyrus looked away, a little abashed. Now he just sounded _ too _ sappy.

There was a heavy silence for a few moments before Kodya finally responded, “You’re welcome, I suppose. …Thank you for not chickening out and fleeing.”

Gyrus’s head snapped up. “I wouldn’t!” he protested.

Kodya shrugged. “I didn’t know that when we started off, and your behavior was hardly encouraging,” he muttered. “But, I know differently now. You’re not as weak as you appear.”

Gyrus smiled, happy to receive the compliment, until it fully sunk in. “Hey, wait. What do you mean, I appear weak?” he protested.

Kodya snorted. “You mean you can’t tell? You’re not exactly the perfect picture of a powerful Nord, you know.”

It was said with a teasing edge, meant to not sting, so Gyrus attempted to respond in kind. “Yeah? Well, you – neither do you!” It was not often that his words failed him, but it seemed this would be one of those times. 

Kodya puffed up in mock indignance. “How dare you!” he sputtered, trying not to laugh. “And what exactly would make you think that?”

They continued bantering playfully until they descended to the plains, and the sun started to dip towards the horizon.

As the sun drifted lower, so did their energy. They lapsed into silence, both having grown too tired to keep up conversation, but unlike bouts during their previous traveling, the quiet wasn’t uncomfortable. After stifling a yawn, Gyrus glanced over at Kodya, wondering how the other man was faring. At a quick glance, it was hard to detect any signs of fatigue in the huntsman, but small hints like the ever-so-slight slump in his posture gave him away. Just as Gyrus was about to ask about stopping for the night soon, something a bit further down the road caught his eye, and he stopped. 

“There’s something on the road up ahead,” he alerted.

This seemed to snap Kodya to full attention. “What?” the huntsman voiced before straining his eyes against the fading light and grunting in frustration. “It’s getting too dark to see far, but I don’t want to stop without knowing whatever is up ahead won’t kill me as I sleep.”

Gyrus nodded. “Hopefully it’s nothing.”

Making a noise in agreement, Kodya resumed walking but grabbed his bow, just in case. Gyrus followed his lead and kept his hand by his sword. Thankfully, since they were in the plains and not the dense forest or steep mountain paths, it didn’t take much more walking to make out what was up ahead: the bulky shape of a wagon, surrounded by a handful of humanoid figures that had too feline of a shape to actually _ be _human. Gyrus recognized what they were from the handful of them he’d seen occasionally in Shor’s Stone: cat-people from the land of Elsweyr, the Khajiit. Faint, frustrated voices were carried to them along the wind.

“It’s a wagon stuck in the mud,” Gyrus reported, squinting. “Maybe we should help out? They might let us stick with them for the night. It would be safer than on our own,” Gyrus reasoned.

Kodya frowned. “It could be a ruse for a band of bandits… they _ are _ Khajiit.”

Gyrus shot him a disapproving look. “Just because they’re Khajiit doesn’t mean they’re bandits,” he argued. Though he had to admit, at least to himself, that he was familiar with the unsavory reputation the feline people had, their cat-like bodies granting them the stealth, agility, and heightened senses needed to be excellent thieves.

Kodya opened his mouth like he was going to shoot a retort back at Gyrus before he took a closer look at the group ahead. “…Actually, I think you’re right, kid,” he conceded, surprising Gyrus. “I’ve seen these ones outside Whiterun a couple times trading,” he clarified.

“See? Nothing to worry about then,” Gyrus stated confidently and picked up his pace. It didn’t take them long to reach the wagon. Once they were close enough, Gyrus could see two of the wheels stuck in a patch of mud encroaching on the road. There were four Khajiit in total: two in regular traveling clothes, one in finer clothes, and the last wearing steel armor with a sword sheathed at their side. As Gyrus and Kodya approached, the one in the fine clothes called over to them.

“Good travelers, a peaceful greeting to you! May I interest you in some fine wares and goods from our caravan?” 

“Ri’saad, what are you doing?” the Khajiit in the armor hissed to the one in the finer clothes, almost too soft for Gyrus to hear.

The Khajiit in the finer clothing, Ri’saad, waved her off. “We aren’t going to make it to Whiterun at this rate, Khayla,” he said at a normal volume. “Might as well take this opportunity to make some roadside sales.”

Khayla didn’t comment, but the flick of her tail and crossed arms conveyed her annoyance.

“I take that is what is preventing you from getting to Whiterun?” Gyrus asked and gestured to the wheels of the wagon that were stuck in the mud.

Ri’saad nodded. “We were supposed to arrive before sundown, but, you can see, we ran into a problem…” 

“If only _ someone _ had paid more attention to where they were steering, I could be nice and warm by a campfire outside of Whiterun by now!” one of the two Khajiit in traveling clothes, a female, snapped at the other.

“I would not have been steering if _ someone _ had taken over when they were supposed to!” the other Khajiit, a male, growled back.

“Lies! It was not—”

Gyrus lightly cleared his throat. “We would be happy to help you get your wagon unstuck,” he offered.

Khayla narrowed her eyes at him. “What reason do you have to want to help us?” she asked, suspicious. “No one does anything for free.”

Gyrus fought a shiver as the Khajiit’s almost luminous blue eyes bore into him. If they had lacked the slitted pupil, Gyrus could almost liken them to the glowing eyes of a draugr. “Honestly? We were hoping to see if we could stay with you at your camp for the night. It would be much safer than if we were by ourselves,” he answered.

The warrior paused and gave them a scrutinizing look; however, before she could reply, Ri’saad cut in.

“That sounds like a fair deal, no?” Ri’saad remarked to Khayla with a pat on her shoulder before turning to Gyrus and Kodya. “You two help free our wagon, we share our camp for the night.” 

“It’s a deal,” Gyrus declared while Kodya simply nodded. Gyrus removed the battleaxe, his sword, his cloak, and the pack containing the Dragonstone and set the items out of the way and away from the mud. It was only after he removed the axe and pack that he realized just how heavy they were, and he rotated each of his shoulders to try and ease the discomfort.

Approaching the wagon, Gyrus could clearly see why the caravan was held up. Both wheels on the right side of the wagon were trapped in the mud. The front wheel looked like it at least cleared the worst of it, but the back wheel was still stuck in the thick of the mud. Gyrus rolled up his pants and the sleeves of his tunic as much as he could and knelt in the mud to get a closer look at the problem.

Before he could get to work, however, one of the Khajiit quietly crouched next to him and said, “I will help you turn the wheel while Atahbah has the horse pull, and your friend can push from the back. This is a good plan, yes?”

Gyrus blinked, slightly startled. “Oh! I was actually going to dry the mud before we try to move the wagon. Makes things much easier.”

The Khajiit blinked at him. “Dry the mud? This is something you can do?”

“Yes, I’ve had a lot of practice with this back home,” Gyrus replied, conjuring the barest amount of flame in both hands and holding them up for the Khajiit to see.

There were surprised oaths from the observing Khajiit. Kodya raised an eyebrow. Ri’saad cleared his throat and said, “This could help hasten things, but perhaps it would be better to do things the slower way? I do not want my wagon to catch fire, after all.”

Gyrus explained, “I come from a mining town, and the ore carts and wagons get stuck very frequently. My mother taught me this trick to help our village, and I have plenty of experience using my fire in this way. I haven’t set a cart of fire in years, and before that, I found that the mud easily smothers the small fires.”

Ri’saad made a considering noise. “It would be good to free my wagon before the sun vanishes,” he admitted. “This one will permit you to do this, though I would like Ma’randru-jo to be ready with mud if he needs to be.”

Gyrus nodded in acknowledgement before turning back to the stuck wagon. He would need to dry a path long enough for the wheel to clear the mud – it would be useless to only dry the mud around the wheel, only for the wheel to get stuck again in another couple inches. And then he would dry around the wheel, which required more finesse. He conjured fire to his palms, channeling the magicka in such a way that the fire barely extended beyond his hands, and got to work. The heat caused the mud to harden, doing in minutes what would take hours in the midday sun. He was careful as he worked, ensuring that the dry patch extended deep enough into the mud to prevent the wagon from sinking below a dry crust. Though his focus was narrowed to the mud he was drying, he was peripherally aware of the multiple keen sets of eyes on him. He slowed his pace as he neared the stuck wheel, being even more careful to keep the flame away from the mostly wooden wheel. His magicka core started to ache a little as he worked longer – even though he was only using a bare hint of magicka to power the tiny amount of flames, drawing out magicka for an extended period was evidently aggravating whatever he’d strained draining his magicka so thoroughly in the ruins.

Finally, with only a sliver of sun still peeking above the horizon, he announced, “It should be dry enough by now. Give it a try – steer straight and slow.”

“Fast work,” came the acknowledgement from the female Khajiit in the driver’s seat. With a nudge to the horse hooked to the wagon, the wagon began to move. Gyrus grabbed the rear wheel and pushed to help it turn; his hands were joined by a pair of hands thinly covered with dark fur. The dry path Gyrus had made buckled a little under the weight of the wagon, but it held firmly enough that the wagon was entirely clear of the mud patch in under five minutes. Gyrus knocked off some dried mud sticking to the back wheel and then stood, pleased with his handiwork.

From behind him, Ri’saad made a delighted noise. “It is freed! This one thanks you greatly for your help. My wagon would have been trapped for much longer, otherwise! You and your friend are, of course, welcome to camp with us for this night.”

“Excellent, thank you,” Gyrus replied, before giving the Khajiit short introductions for himself and Kodya.

“Fortune has smiled upon our meeting, my friends. Now, come. It will not take us long to find a suitable place to stop for the night,” Ri’saad beckoned. Gyrus hastened to retrieve his belongings, only to find Kodya holding them all. With a sheepish look in response to Kodya’s sardonic expression, he accepted his belongings and swiftly redonned them.

With quick steps, Gyrus and Kodya caught up with the slowly departed wagon. There was still enough light in the sky coming from below the horizon to see it.

“May I ask a question?” Gyrus politely asked once it became clear the wagon would not be stopping immediately for lack of a suitable area to pull it to for the night.

“What is it you wish to know?” Khayla responded.

“I’m curious about your homeland. What’s it like?” Gyrus asked the small group.

“The Khajiit hail from a distant land called Elsweyr, bordered on the north by Cyrodiil and the south by the glistening blue waters of the sea,” Ri’saad answered out of the four. “Elsweyr is an arid land of deserts and rocky canyons, where the sun shines warmly, always. There are cities so ancient, the sands have swallowed them whole. But now I will say no more, for I miss my home greatly,” he finished with a faraway look in his eyes.

“That sounds very different from Skyrim,” Gyrus remarked as he tried to imagine the forgein land. It sounded beautiful and warm, a stark contrast to the ever present cold of Skyrim. “What made you decide to travel all the way here?”

“An astute question, for we are far from home and this is a cold, hard land. The wise trader finds the best opportunities, even if he must travel far to find them. Skyrim is a ripe opportunity indeed. The war has scared many other traders away, but for those with courage, there is much profit to be made,” Ri’saad explained.

Gyrus grimaced at the reminder of the ongoing civil war. After everything going on with the dragon in Helgen and his venture into Bleak Falls Barrow, the war had barely crossed his mind the last few days. He could only hope it would be resolved soon, for while Shor’s Stone hadn’t really been affected – at least, not yet – there were several other places in Skyrim where Gyrus knew it had taken its toll. “The war has certainly had a big effect on trade, with the roads being even more dangerous. Do you have a specific route you trade on?” Gyrus questioned. Although Shor’s Stone wasn’t a major trade hub, there were a few traders that would pass through routinely on their way to Riften.

Ri’saad nodded. “We travel between Whiterun and Markarth, and occasionally travel south to Falkreath. Business has proven to be very good between the two. I have trading partners on other routes, as well.”

“You’ve been to Markarth?” Gyrus perked up. The entire city was actually an old Dwemer ruin that was later occupied after the Dwemer disappeared. Although it had changed somewhat after other races moved in, it was still one of the best examples of Dwemer architecture still standing above the surface. It was certainly one of the safest, too, since it was unfortunately not uncommon to hear of bandits residing in the outer structures of other ruins, nevermind the dangers that lurked inside them. 

“Only on the outside; we have never entered the city itself,” Ri’saad revealed, much to Gyrus’s disappointment. “Traveling Khajiit are often unwelcome inside your cities for long periods of time. Men think we are dishonest.”

“That’s a shame,” Gyrus remarked glumly. “Markarth is one place I hope to someday be able to visit myself. It’s any Dwemer scholar’s dream to be able to see,” he sighed wistfully.

“Even from the outside, it is unlike any other city I have seen in my many travels,” Ri’saad recounted. “And this one has seen many strange places over the years.”

“Where else have you traveled?” Gyrus asked. “The furthest I’ve been was not far across the border to Cyrodiil. Which now seems barely any distance at all, compared to how far Elswyer is from Skyrim.”

“Trade has taken this one all across Tamriel,” Ri’saad stated with pride. “The first place I went after leaving Elswyer…”

* * *

Gyrus sat on a rock protruding from the ground with a sigh. Around him, the Khajiit were bustling to set up a campsite with practiced ease, pitching tents, starting the campfire, and whipping out a cooking pot. Gyrus heard rustling behind him and turned to see Kodya setting up a small tent of his own.

Noticing Gyrus’s gaze, Kodya explained, “There should be enough room to fit both of us, if we squeeze.”

Gyrus nodded. The tent would protect them from full exposure to the elements and keep them warmer. He winced as he unhooked his pack and the axe from his sore shoulders and set them to the side. He wasn’t looking forward to lugging all that weight again tomorrow.

Unless…

“Ri’saad?” Gyrus called to the head of the caravan. The cat had settled in front of the campfire with a pipe, but his ears twitched when Gyrus called to him.

“Yes, my friend?” the Khajiit responded.

“I don’t know if it’s too late, but… since you’re traveling merchants, would you be willing to trade for this?” Gyrus held up the axe.

“It is never too late to make a trade with this one,” Ri’saad replied, smiling as he straightened. “Let me see what it is you’re offering, and then we can bargain while Ma’randru-jo prepares a meal. You have been curious about my homeland, so maybe we can offer a small taste of Elsweyr tonight for our companions, hm?”

Gyrus smiled at the thought of food – food he’d never tried before! – and replied, “That sounds perfect.” Then he turned to where Kodya was stuffing their bedrolls in the tent and asked, “Kodya, you need anything?”

“Your conquest, your spoils,” the man replied as he tried to convince the bedrolls to lie flat.

“That is not an answer,” Ri’saad pointed out, seeming much more lively at the prospect of trading. “This one would be happy to serve you, for whatever you have to trade.”

Kodya sighed and relented, “Well, I don’t have much, but it wouldn’t hurt to look, I suppose.”

The cat made a trilling sound and stood. “Well then, my friends, if you would please bring your items to the wagon, where you can see what we have to offer…”

* * *

A scant few hours later, Kodya found himself bolting upright, sleep fog rendering him unable to remember if he was still in the damp underground chambers of Bleak Falls Barrow, menaced by draugr, or somewhere in the wilderness of Skyrim. Searing pain in his chest muddled things further, and he found himself fumbling out of his sleeping bag, bursting out of his stifling tent, and—

A low campfire under a starry sky, manned by a mere silhouette of a Khajiit. Right, they’d made it out of the ruins. He was safe. He clutched at his right breast where the axe had buried itself, sank to his knees, and tried to draw fresh, cold air into his lungs as he willed his heart to slow and the pain to subside.

“Friend, are you well?” an accented voice came out of the night, startling him and sending him scrambling at his bare sides and back before he could remember that he had no reason to fear harm from the Khajiit he was temporarily camping with.

“I— I’m alright,” he wheezed, trying to stand and convince his body to work properly. The dark-furred Khajiit flitted towards him and, with steady hands, guided him to sit by the relative warmth of the small campfire.

The Khajiit clicked her tongue. “Stubborn Nord pride,” she commented before vanishing into the night, her dark fur and armor making her next to impossible to spot. 

Kodya made an unhappy noise, the only retort he could manage, and then focused on trying to breathe. As the pain dimmed, he looked down at his bare chest and saw that the messy scar left behind from the healing was swelled, inflamed, and surrounded by a handful of patchy bruises. Kodya coughed, sending a fresh stabbing ache through his chest, and when he looked at his hand, there were a couple small blotches of blood.

_ I was saved from death, even enough to function, but… not fully healed, _Kodya thought, finally admitting, at least to himself, the truth he’d been trying to ignore all day, despite the evidence. It wasn’t that he was ungrateful he was still alive – he was so glad to still walk Tamriel – but it seemed he still needed time to rest and heal.

At least, with the reward he should be receiving from the Jarl, he wouldn’t have to worry about day to day necessities while he recuperated.

A small cup was thrust in front of his nose. Kodya reflexively looked up at the Khajiit – the female guard, Khayla, the cat who, earlier that evening, had refused to let Gyrus or Kodya take a watch shift because, “My eyes are better than yours in the dark. We will be safer with Khajiit who can see dangers faster than humans.”

Kodya had argued a little on principle, but the cat’s logic was sound, not to mention that Kodya wouldn’t be much of a watch in his current state. He sniffed the mug he’d been given and found that he’d been offered a warm spiced mead, the same kind they’d had with their meal. He drank it, grateful for the warmth and for the rousing spices. He felt much more clear-headed after a few gulps.

“Thank you,” he rasped.

“It is no problem. You looked very unwell,” Khayla replied. “Is it a sickness?”

Kodya shook his head. “Recent injury,” he mumbled, his hand drifting towards the scar on his chest reflexively.

The cat made a noise of understanding and then the two lapsed into a silence that lasted for only a few moments before there was rustling from one of the tents behind him. Kodya turned, wincing, to see Gyrus peering blearily out from the tent.

“Did-did something happen?” he yawned. “Thought somethin’ was attacking, but there wasn’t any noise…”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Kodya assured, feeling guilty that he’d accidentally woken the kid up with his flailing. “Go back to sleep.” The kid definitely needed it, having fallen asleep not long after their meal, probably from the magicka drain. Kodya knew it took more than just a single night’s rest to recover from something like that. Not that Kodya had lasted much longer, with his injury… 

Gyrus grunted in acknowledgement and crawled back into the tent. Kodya would have to be careful to not wake him up when he returned to the tent.

Not that he particularly wanted to do that right that moment, after waking up from a nightmare about the draugr in such a pained state. Wanting to think about just about anything else, he stared into the mug, a little less than half-full, and took another drink. He savored the taste of the spices on his tongue before swallowing. He hadn’t been entirely fond of the drink at dinner, thanks to his unfamiliarity with the spice combination, but now it was a comfort. He would have to ask the cats what the drink was before they parted ways.

He let his thoughts drift back to dinner and the trading beforehand, to take his mind off of Bleak Falls Barrow and anything associated with it. The meat and stewed vegetables on rice had been too sweet for his taste, but the insatiably curious kid had seemed to enjoy them, or at least the opportunity to try something new. Thankfully the Khajiit had decided to satisfy their sweet tooth with more local ingredients, like honey and fruit sauces, rather than with the addictive moonsugar of their homeland.

Kodya wondered how well the Khajiit were able to acquire their preferred substance as far north as Skyrim. While Ri’saad seemed to be doing well trading, much of his stock had been local, or at least from areas closer to Skyrim than Elsweyr. Moonsugar was difficult to acquire outside of Elsweyr, despite high demand for it, because of its addictive properties, and because its refined form as a drink, skooma, was even more highly addictive to all races besides the Khajiit, who had a tolerance for both.

Kodya was just glad he’d gotten a couple new knives to replace the one he’d lost stabbing the draugr at the end of the Barrow, trading away all but two of the furs he’d been holding on to for a better price. One of the knives he’d gotten was a strong, sturdy hunting knife, perfect for utilitarian use, while the other was a wickedly sharp dagger, curved and slightly ornate, that would be of use only in battle. Recent days had shown Kodya that he needed to be more prepared for a fight, even when just hunting. 

Unfortunately, Ri’saad had not had any bows among his merchandise, so Kodya was still stuck with the piece of crap he’d gotten in Riverwood.

Kodya took another swig of mead from his mug as he thought about what the kid had traded for. Not nearly as practical for survival, but then again, Gyrus hadn’t really needed the more practical items among Ri’saad’s inventory. He’d traded away the axe – which Ri’saad had seemed excited about, since it wasn’t every day someone came along with an enchanted relic, prized as collector items, that was nearly completely intact – for a small Dwemer gear from Markarth, a small wooden carved statuette of a leopard from Elsweyr (which Gyrus had said was for his siblings), the only spellbook in Ri’saad’s stock (on beginner’s defensive magic), a small bottle of quick-dry ink, and a salve to help soothe aches and pains that Kodya wasn’t entirely sure legitimately worked.

Well, it wasn’t really any of Kodya’s business what the kid wanted to trade for. Once they had delivered the Dragonstone, they would each go their separate ways, and the kid’s decisions wouldn’t affect Kodya anymore. Kodya was surprised that the thought conjured a small pang of sadness; the kid had really grown on him the past few days. Must have been from how heavily they’d relied on each other to keep them both alive, or how the kid had bravely saved Kodya from all but guaranteed death.

But it would ultimately still be for the best that they would split up later. Kodya was safer away from what seemed to be a walking chaos magnet, even if he no longer detested said magnet.

Kodya downed the last of the spiced mead, savoring one final burst of spice against his tongue. He offered the empty mug to Khayla to take, and she did so with a silent nod.

“Thank you,” Kodya said quietly. The drink and quiet companionship had definitely helped settle his nerves and calm the pain in his chest to a ghost of an ache. The Khajiit nodded again; she didn’t seem to be much of a talker. But Kodya wasn’t offended; he wasn’t much of one, himself. 

Kodya wasn’t completely enthusiastic to return to sleep, if it meant risking the return of the draugr that almost killed him to his mind, but he also knew he needed the rest if his body had any chance of fully recovering from the ordeal. He returned to the somewhat cramped tent he was sharing with Gyrus, careful to avoid jostling the slumbering kid as he slid back into his bedroll, mere inches from the kid. He fell asleep to the kid’s steady, slow, peaceful rhythm of breathing.

* * *

Morning was a rather rushed affair, as everyone wanted to get everything packed up and be on the road as soon as possible. Gyrus was impressed with the efficiency of the way the Khajiit packed up their camp with practiced ease. Though, being on the road all the time, it wasn’t too surprising that they were able to have everything packed and stored away in such a short time. Gyrus tried to help Kodya, but the huntsman just told him to make sure he had all his gear together once it was clear Gyrus didn’t know how to properly dismantle a tent. Gyrus spent the time donning his scarred armor instead of his traveling clothes, figuring that the armor would make a better impression on the Jarl, projecting the image of a triumphant warrior.

Breakfast was just some fruit they could all eat while traveling, which certainly saved time on getting to Whiterun. As they trekked, Gyrus chatted with the caravan and asked them questions that came to mind, and in turn he shared a bit about Shor’s Stone and the Dwemer excavation site where he’d spent several months. Kodya was quiet the majority of the journey, but Gyrus could tell he was paying attention to the conversation with some interest. He even chimed in once to ask about the drink the Khajiit had served them, which was a slight surprise; Gyrus hadn’t thought their hosts’ cuisine had interested the huntsman much.

It was roughly midday that they reached the farms on the outskirts of Whiterun. Unlike last time, people on the road seemed less disgruntled and the traffic was steady. Not long after, they arrived at the outer walls of the hold, and the caravan turned off the road and stopped.

“This is where we must part ways, my friends,” Ri’saad announced as he dismounted the wagon. The other members of the caravan were quick to start setting up their camp.

“You aren’t coming into the city?” Gyrus asked.

Ri’saad shook his head. “Like I said last night, Khajiit are often unwelcome in your cities. Much more business out here anyway; travelers must pass us when entering or exiting the city.”

Before Gyrus could respond, Kodya nudged him back towards the road. “Come on, kid. We still have that errand to complete,” he reminded Gyrus before turning to the Khajiit. “Thank you for your hospitality,” he said sincerely. 

“Yes, thank you,” Gyrus added, extending his gratitude.

Two of the Khajiit gave them a departing wave while Khayla simply nodded. “May your roads lead to warm sands,” Ri’saad bid them with a wave.

As they rounded the palisade to the gate, Gyrus gave one final wave before the stone wall blocked his view. Turning to the road ahead of them, Gyrus was surprised to see the city’s gates opened. “Huh, I’m surprised the gate is open,” Gyrus voiced aloud. It certainly explained why the traffic was much smoother.

“It usually is,” Kodya informed. “Last time, it was probably closed since they didn’t know if it was an invading army that attacked Helgen or not.”

“But now that they know it was a dragon, and that walls and a gate are useless…” Gyrus realized with a frown. “At least by delivering the Dragonstone, there might be something they can figure out to protect against an attack.”

“Then let’s get this delivered and get this done with,” Kodya declared as they passed through the open gates, following the steady flow of people. The huntsman seemed eager to finish their task.

“We should celebrate together afterwards somehow,” Gyrus suggested. “It was no mean feat to retrieve the Dragonstone. Honestly, this may have been one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. After everything that’s happened, it would be nice to spend a few hours relaxing.”

Kodya shifted minutely. “Yeah,” he agreed. But somehow… Gyrus wasn’t sure if it was something slight in Kodya’s tone or what, but he felt that the hunter wasn’t being entirely genuine in his agreement, even though most other cues screamed that he was being completely honest.

They trekked up to Dragonsreach, their steps hastening as the end of their journey approached. Gyrus daydreamed about using the reward money to rent a carriage to take him straight to Shor’s Stone to reunite with his family. Kynareth, he couldn’t wait to see them again…

They were admitted to Dragonsreach with little fuss; thankfully, it seemed the guards had been informed that they were to be allowed in. Jarl Balgruuf wasn’t present in the main hall that day, but the Dragonstone needed to be delivered to Farengar, anyway, so they headed towards the mage’s office instead of looking for the Jarl. 

Gyrus stopped abruptly in the doorway of the office and then stepped back. “Farengar’s in a meeting,” he hissed, anticipating the question. “We shouldn’t interrupt.” Farengar and a hooded figure were bent over the mage’s desk, deep in a serious-sounding conversation while perusing some ancient-looking texts.

Kodya groaned impatiently. “Seriously?” he sighed. “Guess we better wait out here then…”

Gyrus turned his back to the office, trying to make a show of not eavesdropping while still being clearly visible from the inside of the office. He didn’t want to have to wait any longer than he had to to get this over with.

But despite his best attempts to ignore what was happening in the office, he found that he was picking up most of the conversation anyway.

“…rminology is clearly First Era or even earlier. I’m convinced this is a copy of a much older text.”

“Good. I’m glad you’re… …mployers are anxious to have some tangible answers.”

“Oh, have no fear. The Jarl himself has finally… …now able to devote most of my time to this research.”

“…isn’t some theoretical question. Dragons have come back.”

“Yes, yes, don’t worry. Although the chance to see a living dragon up close would be tremendously val…” 

“You have visitors.” 

Gyrus jumped, then turned around guiltily as Farengar looked up from the documents.

“Ah, yes, the Jarl’s hired muscle! Come in! Back from Bleak Falls Barrow already? That was fast. You didn’t die, it seems.”

“Sovngarde came a little too close for comfort several times,” Gyrus admitted as he carefully set his pack on the desk, withdrew the Dragonstone, and unwrapped it from its protective cloth. “Here, this should be what you’re looking for.”

“The Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow!” Farengar exclaimed. Gyrus slumped in relief at the confirmation that they’d taken the right artifact from the Barrow. “Seems you truly are a cut above the usual brutes the Jarl sends my way,” Farengar complimented as he ran his fingers over the stone tablet. “My… associate here will be pleased to see your handiwork. She discovered its location, by means she has so far declined to share with me.” Gyrus looked curiously at the armored, hooded woman, whose features he could not make out, and wondered who she was. 

Farengar approached her, pushed some scrolls out of the way to set the tablet in front of her, and said, “So your information was correct after all. And we have our friend here to thank for recovering it for us.” Gyrus twitched at the thought that they could have been sent into the Barrow for nothing, had the woman’s information been inaccurate.

“You two went into Bleak Falls Barrow and got that? Nice work,” the woman complimented, nodding at Gyrus and Kodya. Then she turned to Farengar and commanded, “Just send me a copy when you’ve deciphered it.”

“Of course!” Farengar assured. 

The hooded woman nodded respectfully. “My employers will be waiting,” she said. “If that’s all for now… I should be going. I’ll come back later.”

Farengar nodded respectfully. “I appreciate your resources!” he called cheerfully as the woman quietly slipped from the room. Then he turned back to the Dragonstone, excitedly examining it.

After a couple moments, Kodya cleared his throat pointedly. “So what about our reward?”

“Oh! Well, I can’t give it to you myself; the Jarl or his steward, Avenicci, handle rewards,” Farengar explained apologetically. “If you don’t mind waiting here, though, I can send an errand-boy to fetch it for you.” 

“We don’t mind,” Gyrus responded quickly before Kodya could protest. “I actually had some questions about Bleak Falls Barrow, anyway.”

“Oh? Did you find something of interest?” Farengar queried as he clapped his hands to summon an errand-boy.

Gyrus politely waited to continue until Farengar had given the errand-boy his instructions and sent him on his way. “Well, I noticed some strange things about the draugr, and there was this wall in the main chamber… but first, I want to ask about something I found,” Gyrus began. He very carefully extracted the rolled-up scroll he’d recovered from the ruin and held it out to Farengar. “Do you know what this is?”

“Why, that looks like a very old type of spell scroll,” Farengar observed as he gingerly accepted the scroll. He examined it closely for a moment before shoving aside some books and carefully unrolling it on his desk. Gyrus peered curiously at the runes inscribed in ancient ink, faded but still legible.

“Fastincating! Yes, this is a spell scroll!” Farengar confirmed. “This is an ancient runic script. See this central marking?” Farengar pointed to a large circle of runes in the middle. “This is a scroll that is meant to be torn in half to release the spell. Once the central holding sigil is disrupted, the spell is released. Of course, I absolutely wouldn’t recommend doing so, given this scroll’s historical significance. Not to mention, the spell might not even be active after all this time…” Farengar brought a finger to the fragile paper and brushed it lightly with a glowing finger. He grimaced when the ink started to glow faintly. “Or not. Amazing that this spell is still good, though instability from degradation of the scroll could cause it to activate without disruption of the central sigil…” he muttered.

“Do you know which spell this is?” Gyrus asked, fascinated by the information Farengar was tossing out.

“Well, I’m no expert in ancient spellwork, though I have been brushing up on my ancient runes quite heavily the past few days, looking into ancient dragon lore,” Farengar admitted as he peered closely at the scroll. “I believe this is a spell to protect some area from fire. At the very least, if it activates prematurely, it is not a damaging spell, though I can’t say how large the area of effect still is, or how long it would last. These old scrolls can be volatile, after so very many years unused… Would you be inclined to sell this to me?”

Gyrus thought about the offer for a moment before shaking his head. “I’m sorry, but no,” he replied. “I don’t want to use it, but I do have my own academic interest in this scroll.”

“Ah yes, I understand. I will respect a fellow scholar’s academic pursuits, especially since you were the one to recover this scroll to begin with. Though I thought you said you were a scholar of the Dwemer?” Farengar queried as he began to gently reroll the scroll.

Gyrus nodded. “My main interest is in the Dwemer, yes. This is for something of a personal side project.”

Farengar smiled. “Ah, yes, I do know something about those.” He handed the scroll back to Gyrus. “I wish you well in your search, from one scholar to another. Now, you mentioned having other questions regarding the Barrow?”

“Yes,” Gyrus confirmed. “Relating to magic… there was a massive stone wall, carved with the same kind of glyphs that are on the back of the Dragonstone. When I got near it, there was… some kind of spell, I guess, that pulled me in and sent me into a trance while it passed on a message of sorts.”

“Oh?” Farengar responded eagerly. “And what was this message?”

“It was just passing on the meaning of what was written there, I believe,” Gyrus replied. “I don’t remember the exact words, but it was describing the guardian of the Dragonstone laid to rest there. It went something like: Here lies the guardian of the Dragonstone, a force of rage and darkness.” The memory of **fus **on the carved wall echoed in his head for a moment before he shoved it away.

“Fascinating!” Farengar remarked. “Did you find any hint of this guardian that was mentioned?”

Gyrus shuddered at the memories, and how close they’d come to both dying. “Yes,” he responded flatly. “It nearly killed us both. It was carrying the Dragonstone.”

Farengar clicked his tongue. “A pity you couldn’t have taken the Dragonstone with a less destructive method. Though I suppose there is no reasoning with a draugr.”

“So, about the wall,” Gyrus hurried to say, not wanting to dwell on that fight. “The strange thing about it was that it only affected me. My companion didn’t feel a thing.” Gyrus glanced over at Kodya, who was disinterestedly examining some of the magic items on Farengar’s shelves. It was obvious the huntsman wasn’t really listening to their conversation, perhaps too impatient for the reward.

“Oh? That is indeed curious,” Farengar hummed. “Perhaps whatever magic this wall is imbued with was designed to only affect one person, or has weakened… I could not say without examining the wall itself, or without looking into research on the spells the ancient Nords left in their tombs—”

“Farengar!” someone yelled as footsteps thundered towards the office. “Farengar,” the caller – Balgruuf’s housecarl, the Dunmer – repeated as she came into view and rushed into the office. “The Jarl needs you. A dragon’s been sighted nearby!”

Gyrus gasped, the horrifying words echoing in his mind, as his hands involuntarily started to tremble and a cold sweat gathered on his brow. Oh, gods, he needed to get out of here, reward be damned—

His breath stuttered as the housecarl’s stern gaze landed upon him, and her following words landed like leaden weights on his shoulders: “You two need to come, too.”

Gyrus looked over desperately at Kodya, who was all but vibrating from the force of the tension in his body. Kodya looked back, tight-lipped and uneasy, but refusing to run.

Of all the times for Nord stubbornness to rear its head… not that they would likely get very far if they did try to run, between the housecarl and Farengar _ right there_.

Memories of Helgen flashed in his mind as Gyrus’s hands curled into fists and he bit his lip in a fierce effort not to cry. Damn it, why couldn’t he just have a safe and peaceful journey home, without any more dragons burning down cities? One was already _ far _more than enough.

“Let’s go!” the housecarl snapped, breaking Gyrus from his reverie. He looked at the eager face of Farengar – what was the mage so excited about; had Gyrus missed something that had been said when he’d been spaced out? – the impatient face of the Dunmer, and the resigned face of Kodya. Then, his shoulders slumping in defeat, Gyrus followed the small group out of the office to see the Jarl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be like Kodya and ignore injuries like a stubborn dumbass.
> 
> Spell scrolls - have different methods of activation depending on how they're made.
> 
> Canonical racism in Skyrim - unfortunately but unsurprisingly exists. Men and elves tend to dislike each other (especially high elves and Nords), and both are varying degrees of leery of the beastfolk. Views expressed by characters in fic do not represent the personal views of the authors.


	12. Dragon Rising

Gyrus reluctantly followed the small group, his footsteps heavy. He fought to keep his breathing steady as memories of Helgen flashed in his mind, of helplessly cowering and praying for his life amidst the fire… 

But he wasn’t in Helgen anymore. He wasn’t a prisoner, his hands weren’t bound, he was armed and in better physical shape… and it was likely the dragon wasn’t even _ at _Whiterun, since he couldn’t hear any faint roars.

Damn it, he didn’t want to be so weak and frightened! Especially when there was no present danger. He squared his jaw and tried to present the image of a strong, confident Nord as he followed the group up a flight of stairs, even though his visceral panic hadn’t quite yet subsided. 

He emerged into a war room. A large map of Skyrim was pinned to a prominent table in the center of the room, and scrolls and books were strewn on smaller tables and in bookshelves. He didn’t have time to notice much else, however, as his attention was drawn to Jarl Balgruuf, who was facing a pale and shaken guardsman – a fresh-faced teenager who couldn’t have been long out of training. A couple of advisors hovered quietly at the edges of the room. 

Balgruuf nodded curtly in acknowledgment of their group’s arrival before turning to the guardsman. “So, Irileth tells me you came from the western watchtower?” he questioned, wasting no time.

“Yes, my lord,” the soldier replied, his voice cracking up an octave.

“Tell him what you told me. About the dragon,” Irileth prompted in encouragement.

“At the western watchtower, right?” Balgruuf asked.

“Uh… that’s right,” the guardsman confirmed, slightly unsteady. “We saw it coming from the south. It was fast… faster than anything I’ve ever seen.” A chill ran down Gyrus’s back as he thought of the way the black dragon had streaked through the sky over Helgen. Talos, it was coming from the south… making its way north. It wasn’t content to just stay in one area. Was anywhere safe?

“What did it do? Is it attacking the watchtower?” Balgruuf demanded.

“No, my lord,” the young soldier answered. “It was just circling overhead when I left. I never ran so fast in my life… I thought it would come after me for sure.” Gyrus frowned; how far away was the watchtower? It was entirely possible the situation had changed from when the guardsman had left the watchtower. For the dragon that had destroyed Helgen to just circle an area without attacking… it seemed… strange.

Balgruuf patted the young guardsman on the shoulder. “Good work, son. We’ll take it from here. Head down to the barracks for some food and rest. You’ve earned it.” Balgruuf turned away, letting the guardsman gratefully scamper away. “Irileth, you’d better gather some guardsmen and get down there.”

“I’ve already ordered my men to muster near the main gate,” Irileth reported. “We’ll be ready to leave shortly.”

“Excellent.”

“I should come along,” Farengar piped up. “I would very much like to see this dragon.”

“No,” Balgruuf refused. “I can’t afford to risk both of you. I need you here, working on ways to defend the city against these dragons.”

Farengar looked disappointed, but complied, “As you command.”

“One last thing, Irileth,” Balgruuf addressed his housecarl, who looked eager to leave. “This isn’t a death or glory mission. I need to know what we’re dealing with.”

The dark elf nodded solemnly. “Don’t worry, my lord. I’m the very soul of caution.”

“Good. Don’t fail me.”

Gyrus bit his lip and shifted uneasily as Balgruuf dismissed both his court mage and housecarl before turning to speak to his advisors, ordering them to oversee increased watches and defenses for the city and to keep a record of the current events. He wasn’t quite sure why he and Kodya had been dragged to the meeting, if the Jarl wasn’t going to ask them about Helgen or the Dragonstone. Not that he had any useful information about fighting dragons, anyway. He wanted to leave, but if he wandered off and the Jarl had actually wanted him for something, he would be in a heap of trouble.

As if in response to Gyrus’s thoughts, Balgruuf turned to address him and Kodya. “There’s no time to stand on ceremony, my friends. I need your help again,” he began. “I want you to go with Irileth and help her fight this dragon.”

“_What?!_” Gyrus cried out before he could think to clamp his mouth shut. “I— my lord—”

“We’re not soldiers,” Kodya cut in firmly, preventing Gyrus from shoving his foot in his mouth further. “What makes you think we’d be better suited for this fight than any of the men you have in the guardhouse?”

“You survived Helgen, so you have more experience with dragons than anyone else here,” Balgruuf stated firmly. It took Gyrus a moment to remember, through the haze of fear, that Balgruuf thought Kodya had been in Helgen too as part of the manservant deception. “And I heard that you retrieved the Dragonstone from a place many men have entered but not returned from. Between your experience and skill, is it any wonder why I would ask for your aid once more?”

Just because the Jarl’s words were logical and correct, didn’t mean Gyrus felt any more comfortable confronting the dragon. Gyrus had to begrudgingly admit that he’d gotten a lot of combat experience and practice over the past few days, but he could hardly call himself adept, and based on how the soldiers at Helgen had failed to take down the dragon, his fighting skills were probably all but useless anyway.

After a few moments of silence as Balgruuf took in the reluctance and fear on at least Gyrus’s face, Balgruuf added solemnly, “I understand that Helgen has left a terrible mark on you both, and that you have already risked much in my name to retrieve the Dragonstone. But I would not ask if I did not think your presence would help protect the lives of my people. Indeed, if the dragon isn’t hostile, you may not have to do any fighting at all.”

“What’s in it for us?” Kodya asked calculatingly. “You can’t expect us to risk our lives again without some incentive.” Gyrus almost died on the spot, because it sounded like Kodya was _ actually considering _ taking up the task while _ trying to shake the Jarl down _for more money. Kodya didn’t know just how terrible facing a dragon could be; apparently just listening to the account of another wasn’t enough to override Nord confidence and stubbornness.

Balgruuf raised an eyebrow, but replied, “Depending on how dangerous this task turns out to be, I am prepared to raise your reward by a commensurate amount… and, perhaps, even throw noble titles in for the bargain. Quite a step up for a newly freed man, eh?”

Even the most minor noble was allowed to purchase property in the city and was afforded special privileges. Most nobles tended to be financially set for life, too, or at least able to comfortably weather a few hard years. Gyrus already knew Kodya’s answer before the huntsman even opened his mouth.

“Well, I suppose I can’t say no to that offer,” the huntsman accepted. He glanced over at Gyrus.

Gyrus grimaced. Volunteering to go _ towards _a dragon was absolute insanity to him, but with Kodya agreeing, refusing to go would make him look even more cowardly, and he didn’t want Kodya to die, either. Gyrus had some of that Nord stubbornness in him, too. And damn it, with the way Balgruuf had put it – if they were just going to see what the dragon was up to and not fighting it for certain – that, Gyrus could handle. As long as no one blamed him if he fled for cover like he’d done in Helgen if the dragon started to attack them and the situation seemed unwinnable. He also wouldn’t be alone, either; there would be soldiers with him and Kodya who could, presumably, take the brunt of the dragon’s attention.

One more mission to help protect Skyrim, and then there was nothing that would stop Gyrus from heading home.

“Fine,” he breathed, trying not to feel like he was signing his own death warrant.

Balgruuf nodded solemnly. “Then you’d best hurry down to the gates to join Irileth’s group. Good luck.”

* * *

Gyrus made it to the front gates at the tail end of what seemed like a rousing speech from Irileth to prepare the soldiers for their mission. Kodya had already gone ahead while Gyrus had made a quick stop by Farengar’s office to beg the mage to deliver Gyrus’s pack to his family if Gyrus died. If Gyrus had to fight, he would much rather do it unencumbered by unnecessary weight. His journal would be safe from being burned to a crisp, too. Gyrus was only carrying his sword, waterskin, and a handful of spell scrolls tucked into his belt: the ancient flame protection scroll he’d picked up in Bleak Falls Barrow, and two scrolls given to him by Farengar in the event the dragon was hostile and Gyrus needed to defend himself, on the promise that Gyrus would tell the mage all about the dragon when he came back and that Gyrus would return the scrolls if he didn’t need them.

Gyrus stopped to stand by the antsy huntsman just in time to hear, “—first dragon seen in Skyrim since the last age. The glory of killing it is ours, if you’re with me! Now what do you say? Shall we go kill us a dragon?”

Gyrus grimaced as the group of soldiers roared in acknowledgment. Damn it, it sounded like Irileth had already made up her mind to fight, even if the dragon wasn’t attacking.

“So much for a simple scouting mission,” Kodya muttered. Gyrus clenched his jaw. They couldn’t back out now. But, by the Divines, if Gyrus had survived this long, even against a draugr warlord, he would damn well make sure he survived another dragon attack.

“Let’s move out!” Irileth shouted.

* * *

According to the soldiers Gyrus asked as they set out, it was a forty to forty-five minute jog to the watchtower. They proceeded at a steady pace, and the number of people on the road thinned dramatically as they left Whiterun behind. Word had apparently spread fast that there was some kind of trouble on the road heading west. Gyrus focused on the steady rhythm of his footfalls on the cobblestone to avoid thinking about the kind of danger he was headed towards; panicking would definitely not help him.

The group slowed and Gyrus frowned; he didn’t think they’d been traveling long enough to make it to the watchtower. He tried to peer over the soldiers’ heads and could barely see the watchtower in the distance. His heart sank; there was smoke rising from the tower, and that wasn’t a good sign. He looked up at the sky, searching for a dragon.

With his attention elsewhere, the unexpected “Halt!” from Irileth made him jump. He looked down from the sky to see that they had stopped because there was another group of soldiers in the road. Gyrus recognized the Imperial style of their armor immediately.

The short-cropped fiery red hair on one of them was very familiar, too.

“Tori!” he blurted out before he could stop himself. His ears burned as some of the Whiterun soldiers and Kodya glanced at him. Surprise flickered across Tori’s face when she saw him before she masked it.

“Quite a force you have there,” one of the Imperial soldiers, an officer from the looks of the extra decorations on his uniform, said in lieu of a greeting as he stepped forward. “I do hope this isn’t all for us.”

“Of course we’re not here to attack a departing envoy. Your warning about the dragon in Helgen was appreciated, even if it was a bit late,” Irileth replied stiffly. “There’s trouble at the watchtower. I would ask that you stay here, out of the way, until the road is safe to travel again.”

The officer looked toward the watchtower and back, his expression serious. “Dragon?” he asked.

“What makes you think dragon? And, dragon or not, this is a Whiterun affair,” Irileth replied snappily.

“It’s bad for us too if one of the main westbound roads is blockaded, by a dragon or otherwise,” the officer reasoned. “If it was a dragon and not just, say, a bandit raid, the Imperial army might be willing to lend a hand.”

“Whiterun is in no need of the extra resources from the Empire at this time. I thought this was made clear at our meeting earlier.”

“Consider this a one-time offer, no strings attached for an alliance, from our group only. We need to return to Solitude with all due haste, without delays or detours.”

“And the potential information gathered and prestige for the Imperial army aren’t motivators either, I’m sure,” Irileth remarked dryly, nearly a tacit admission that they _ were _dealing with a dragon. 

The officer shrugged. “We are encouraged to act to the benefit of the Imperial army,” he responded glibly. “Now, would you like some help with that dragon or not?”

Irileth sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “We don’t have time to argue about this. Yes, there’s a dragon at the watchtower. I won’t stop you if you want to lend an extra hand, but any action you take will not lead to a change in the decision Whiterun gave you this morning. And remember whose jurisdiction you’re in if you decide to take action. You’ll follow my lead for this situation, got it?”

The officer looked a little unhappy, but even if they weren’t in Whiterun hold, Irileth still held a higher military rank – just among the Whiterun guard instead of the Imperial army. There was really only one answer the officer could give to participate in the mission.

“We will follow your orders, but only until the dragon is taken care of,” the officer acquiesced with a nod.

“Excellent,” Irileth acknowledged. “Whiterun is grateful for your aid. Fall in behind us until we reach the watchtower.”

With a nod and a gesture to his three men, the Imperials moved to the back of the group, right behind Gyrus and Kodya. After a moment to get situated, the combined group set out for the last leg of the short journey to the watchtower. Gyrus was grateful for the extra manpower on his side.

“Who’s that Imperial you recognized?” Kodya murmured to Gyrus as they jogged forward.

“We survived Helgen together,” Gyrus replied quietly. “I consider her a friend.” He glanced behind him and met her gaze. She nodded cordially. The acknowledgement gave him a warm feeling as he turned back to watch where he was going.

Somehow, even though he was heading closer and closer to what would likely be terrible danger, he felt more settled knowing that he had not just one but two people he liked and trusted by his side in this fight.

* * *

_ So much for the dragon not being hostile_, Gyrus thought unhappily as he gazed at the damaged watchtower from behind an outcropping of rocks, where the entire group was currently crouched for cover. The tower looked like it had been partially destroyed, with chunks of the still-standing structure littered on the ground. Patches of fire smouldered on the ground, and smoke drifted from a hole three-quarters of the way up the tower. 

But Gyrus couldn’t see the dragon or hear its roars.

_ Maybe it already left? _he wondered uneasily. But there was something about the husk of the tower that was unsettling to him.

Irileth echoed his thoughts. “No signs of any dragon right now, but it sure looks like it’s been here. I know it looks bad, but we’ve got to figure out what happened. And if that dragon is still skulking around somewhere. Spread out and look for survivors. We need to know what we’re dealing with.” Irileth drew her sword, and the other soldiers drew their weapons a moment later. 

Having a weapon ready would definitely be a good idea. Gyrus drew his sword and nervously channeled magicka to his left hand, where it bubbled as unreleased fire in preparation.

They fanned out to search the area, the soldiers sticking in small groups. The group of Imperials appeared to be circling to the left of the tower near the bulk of the rubble, while Gyrus found himself following Irileth and a few of Whiterun’s guards along the road, which curved to the right. Kodya seemed to have chosen to follow a group that was heading along the straightest path to the tower walls.

“Shor’s bones, did it kill them all…?” one of the guards in front of Gyrus murmured, aghast.

Gyrus shuddered as he looked around the area. No sign of the dragon or any survivors, but plenty of destruction. Still, there was something about the scene that seemed… off, something that nagged at him.

“Maybe someone is still inside the tower?” a guard suggested, pointing to the entrance of the tower. The footbridge leading to the elevated entrance to the guard tower, meant to prevent immediate easy access, had partially collapsed. A ramp of debris led up to the entrance, thankfully leaving it accessible.

Before any of the group could take more than a couple steps up the ramp, however, a single face, bone-white in terror, peaked out. Gyrus sighed in relief; at least there was _ one _survivor. The man seemed to be frightened but otherwise unharmed. Gyrus frowned; something about that was odd as well.

Before any of them could say anything, however, the surviving guard screeched, “No! Get back! It’s still here somewhere! Hroki and Tor just got _ grabbed _when they tried to make a run for it!”

“Guardsman!” Irileth barked. “What happened here? Where’s this dragon? Quickly now!”

“I don’t know!” the poor guard moaned. 

Gyrus gasped as he heard a distant echoing roar, with whispered undertones of “**Ruz hokoron! Pruzah!**” and “_Fresh enemies! Good!_”

_ No, please, not these voices again_, Gyrus thought despairingly. He whipped his head towards the sound and, finding his view blocked by the tower, sidestepped to see a familiar, chilling, and somehow _ wrong _winged silhouette rapidly descending from where it had been hiding among the clouds.

“Kynareth save us, here it comes again…” the surviving guard whimpered before vanishing from the tower entrance, presumably to hide deeper inside. Gyrus couldn’t blame the man and considered the merits of joining the guard in hiding until the dragon was dead or had left.

“Here it comes!” Irileth bellowed. “Scatter and get behind cover! We need to hurt it, somehow! If you’ve got a bow or spells, now would be a good time to use them!”

_ I don’t have any weapons or spells to fight something above me, way out of my range, and the spell scrolls are one-use only_, Gyrus determined unhappily. Sheltering in the tower was looking more and more tempting.

But Kodya and Tori were out here.

A distressed noise escaped from between his gritted teeth before Gyrus dashed around the side of the tower, towards where he’d seen Kodya and Tori searching. He spotted Kodya crouching behind a smoldering chunk of rubble with a couple of Whiterun’s guards and sprinted to join them. He didn’t know where Tori was, but he didn’t have time to look around for her, because then the dragon was right above them, circling the tower and roaring a challenge. Blasts of wind gusted over all of them from the force of the dragon’s wingbeats.

And still, Gyrus was struck by the sense of _ oddness _ from the dragon, and from the whole situation. Something was wrong; something was _ different_. Something he wasn’t clear-headed enough around his terror to see.

“Talos save us, it’s a dragon!” the smaller guard whimpered, a white-knuckled grip on his sword.

Kodya was already shooting arrows as fast as he could nock and draw them. The dragon was a big target, but it was also moving quickly. Gyrus couldn’t tell how many of Kodya’s arrows had hit. It looked like other archers were firing at the dragon too. 

Gyrus felt entirely useless as he fingered the spell scrolls in his belt. They were the only weapons he had that could reach the dragon, but he didn’t want to waste them when he wasn’t sure he could accurately aim the spells to hit the moving target.

The dragon spread its wings, slowing to hover in place as it roared. “**Thuri du hin sil ko Sovngarde!**” and “_My overlord will devour your souls in Sovngarde!_” echoed in Gyrus’s ears, and he tried to shake his head to clear the words. The next thing he heard were the dying screams of at least three men as the dragon breathed a torrent of fire down on the soldiers sheltering behind some debris not all that far from where Gyrus and Kodya were.

Gyrus stared at the dragon’s form in horror. It had just killed those three men so _ easily_, and yet it seemed paltry compared to the devastation in Helgen. A single watchtower, not even completely destroyed, with at least one combatant out of a mere handful surviving the initial attack unscathed. It was then he finally managed to look beyond his terror and took in what he was seeing _ of _ the dragon, not just seeing _ dragon_.

It was too small, and its scales were green and too smooth. The dragon at Helgen had been black and spiny, bigger and more menacing, and—

“It’s not the same dragon,” Gyrus whispered with dread. “_It’s not the same dragon!_” he roared to the others before he could think better of it. Forget potentially drawing the dragon’s attention to where he was – if anyone survived this, they _ needed to know _ there was more than just one dragon out there now. If there wasn’t just one, how many _ more _of them were out there?

There was an outcry from the soldiers that was drowned out by a sudden rush of wind as the dragon flapped its wings hard with a short cry. Gyrus found it hard to maintain his footing even with the partial cover of the rubble, and he saw at least three soldiers scattered in the area go flying. 

But the dragon didn’t seem to care about Gyrus’s yell, because it completely ignored their small group in favor of rushing towards one of the soldiers that had been knocked off his feet, snapping him up in one smooth motion in its jaws without even landing. The man’s weapon soared through the air and clattered to a stop not far from where Gyrus was sheltering.

Unexpectedly, Kodya darted beyond their sheltering rubble to scoop up the weapon. Gyrus cried out wordlessly in fear, barely hearing the dragon’s triumphant roar that echoed with “**Zu’u vodahmin yuvon nir hi joorre drun!**” and “_I had forgotten what fine sport you mortals can provide!_”

In the next moment, Kodya was back with their small group, sheltering by the rubble. “What were you thinking?!” Gyrus hissed. “You could have been killed!”

Kodya held up the weapon – the bow – he’d retrieved, and gave it a quick once-over. “I’d rather try to fight that thing with a better weapon than the piece of shit I got in Riverwood,” he replied, testing the bowstring before, apparently satisfied the bow still worked, storing the old bow in his pocket stone and nocking an arrow on the new one.

Gyrus made a frustrated noise, because that was _ such _an unnecessary risk – and the dragon had drifted way too close to their shelter for comfort, probably lured by Kodya breaking cover for a moment. 

But now that it was this close, and moving slower – Gyrus withdrew one of the spell scrolls from his belt, flung it open, and spoke the activation phrase. The shaped magicka burst out of the scroll, burning it to a crisp; Gyrus merely had to redirect the released spell using a little of his own magicka. A thick stream of lighting jumped from his hands, straight into the dragon’s belly. The dragon roared in pain as the electricity tore through its body and its wingbeats faltered erratically for a moment. 

Gyrus didn’t get a chance to see more as a strong hand yanked him away from the rubble he’d been sheltering next to. He could only try to keep from stumbling as he was dragged to another nearby piece of debris and then shoved under it, pressed against the ground. Kodya joined him a moment later.

“Good reflexes, but I didn’t want to stick around when the dragon got its bearings,” Kodya grunted. Gyrus flinched as he heard a couple terrified screams and the crunching of bone too close for comfort. The two guards they’d been hiding with apparently hadn’t been so lucky to escape from the dragon.

“Gods, is this thing even able to die?” Gyrus moaned. The electricity he’d released from the spell scroll would have been strong enough to fry the entire platoon of soldiers he’d followed to the watchtower.

“When I shoot it, it bleeds. And if it bleeds, it can die. That’s all I need,” Kodya stated.

Pragmatism, that was Kodya. And when Gyrus stopped to think about it, Kodya was right: in old legends, from when dragons were still around, there were tales of people slaying dragons… 

If their ancestors could do it, so could they. A feeling of _ readiness _ and _ challenge _ rose within him before the reality of the situation reasserted itself and cleared away the odd sensation. Of all the times to suddenly develop a Nord’s eagerness for battle… 

“Well, we can’t kill it from under here,” Gyrus stated frankly.

“Can’t kill it if we’re _ dead_, either,” Kodya rebutted just before the dragon roared, sounding loud enough that Gyrus thought the dragon was right above them.

“Fall to me, dragon!” someone yelled with a battle cry from nearby. Heat and the crackle of fire, followed by a wrecked cry, told Gyrus of the unfortunate soldier’s end.

The dragon let out a triumphant cry with undertones of “**Krif krin. Pruzah!**” and “_Fight courageously. Good!_” then there was a rush of wind from flapping wings. Further away, there were some yells from other guards as it sounded like the dragon engaged them. An angry shout from Irileth rang clear across the battlefield: “Come down here and fight, you coward!”

Kodya scrambled out from under the rubble, and Gyrus followed suit. It looked like the dragon was finally landing, clear of the rubble some ways away, and was snapping at two soldiers while at least five others rushed in. Among them was Tori.

Gyrus signalled Kodya he was going with a quick pat on the shoulder as he rushed by, intent on helping Tori, and maybe landing a hit or two on the dragon in the process. One of the closest soldiers had been bitten in half, and another had been flung away by the flare of a wing with such force that, when he hit a protruding piece of rubble, he folded almost completely in half, his spine smashed. 

Gyrus didn’t allow himself to think of all the horrible ways he could die as he got closer, or of the possibility that the dragon could kill them all before they could take it down. He circled around, towards where he’d seen Tori, and advanced toward her, hoping to help protect her from the dragon’s attacks.

The dragon let out an explosive hiss that echoed with “**Hi los kril. Bahlaan hokoron. Hin viik drun zu’un zin!**” and “_You are brave. Worthy enemies. Your defeat brings me honor!_” Its neck jerked back and its mouth started to open, like it was—

Gyrus didn’t have time to remind himself that he was just hallucinating the words, because to defeat this entire group all at once would require it to breathe fire, and not only was Gyrus in the line of the attack, but Tori was too. He tore the ancient protection spell from his belt and crashed into Tori just as he ripped the scroll in half. A shaking, pockmarked bubble expanded from the scroll before vanishing, leaving himself, Tori, and some parts of other soldiers shimmering with a film of light.

And then Gyrus was engulfed in an inferno. He couldn’t see anything beyond a writhing mass of flames, he couldn’t breathe, and his skin boiled with heat as the magic coating his body flickered and struggled; Gyrus was definitely going to have burns from this—

But he was alive. 

The flames parted, and Gyrus savored the rush of cool air that flowed in, even though it was tainted with the smells of smoke and cooked flesh. He looked straight up at the dragon and met its surprised gaze, feeling wild and triumphant and strangely energized.

_ You challenged me, and you could not prevail_, Gyrus thought fiercely. _ Now it’s my turn. _His left hand fell to his belt, where the final spell scroll remained. 

The moment was broken as reality crashed in with a shout from Irileth. “Is that all you’ve got?” she roared as she lunged forward, her sword poised and ready in only one hand. Her other arm was looking somewhat… crisped. But despite her terrible wound, her attack was true, and the dragon roared in pain and fury as the dark elf slashed out one eye. It reared back and spread its wings, preparing to take off again.

_ Oh, no you don’t_, Gyrus thought angrily as he flung open his final spell scroll, adrenaline pumping. He wasn’t entirely sure what had come over him earlier, but he didn’t have time to think about it – now was as good a time as any to act on that impulse to counterattack. He shouted the activation phrase and directed the released spell at the dragon, targeting the thick juncture between its body and one of its wings. A hailstorm of ice spikes blasted from his outstretched fingers and impaled the dragon. 

The dragon screeched in agony as it tried to take off nonetheless, only to crash back to the ground some distance away, the shredded muscle and membrane of its wing crumpling uselessly. Gyrus noticed some arrow wounds from the steady barrage from the archers in the other wing, too, which wouldn’t have helped either.

“Take it down! It’s our best chance!” the Imperial officer shouted hoarsely, sprinting forward despite the blood gushing down one side of his face. Other soldiers, including Tori, were hot on his heels, shouting hoarse battle cries.

_ It will be easier to take down now that it’s confined to the ground_, Gyrus thought as he charged ahead as well. _ Easier to dodge the dragon’s fire, too. _He would just have to stay away from the dragon’s front. Of course, there were other dangers on its sides and rear, but Gyrus decided he’d rather take his chances being clipped by a wing or flung by the tail than burnt to a crisp. It seemed Tori had no such qualms flirting with fire, though, occupying the dragon’s attention with two other heavily armored soldiers while dodging snaps of the dragon’s teeth.

Gyrus wouldn’t be of any help by going directly to her – he could tell he would only get in the way. His next best bet to help her was to damage or kill the dragon using some other method, like attacking the dragon’s flank near the wing he’d shredded, which likely couldn’t hit him as hard as the other more intact wing.

He rushed at the dragon’s flank, shoved aside its weakly spasming wing, and slashed with his sword while casting a stream of fire.

It didn’t take him long to notice a problem. _ Damn it, are these scales resistant to fire? _Gyrus wondered, panting. His flames were barely leaving a mark, and his sword was penetrating the thick protective scales too shallowly to do much harm.

_ Damn it! _ Gyrus let his flames die and gripped the hilt of his sword with both hands, using all the strength he could muster to hew through the protective scales and draw the dragon’s blood, which was hot enough to throw off steam. _ No wonder we’ve been having trouble taking it down! _The archers had definitely been hitting the dragon, but their arrows hadn’t been strong enough to both get through the tough scales and penetrate deeply enough to cause significant damage.

In close combat, with weapons that would cut and bludgeon instead of pierce, however… it was a different story. And Gyrus wasn’t alone in his efforts to cut it open and spill its blood, despite the dragon’s continuous efforts to shake them all off.

Gyrus grunted as the shredded wing flailed hard enough to clip him on the side and stagger him, but it was a weak, glancing blow compared to what Gyrus had seen it do earlier. He was back to hacking at the dragon within moments, next to another soldier that had moved up from the dragon’s tail to help Gyrus at its flank.

The dragon’s movements became more frenzied as it took more damage and more of its steaming blood poured onto the ground, turning solid ground to an unstable, slippery mass of bloody mud. But even though the dragon was struggling as fiercely as ever, there was a sudden moment when Gyrus noticed he somehow _ knew _ that it was drawing closer and closer to death as more and more of its lifeblood spilled from its body. As if there was some mass of energy he could suddenly sense that was becoming clearer as the dragon’s body failed. He didn’t have time to wonder about why he felt this way, too busy trying to prevent the dragon from crushing him, but if they could just get the beast to _ bleed _enough—

He heard more than saw it. A raw, angry yell from Tori as her sword scraped against the dragon’s teeth, the thin sheet of metal keeping her from being crushed in its jaws. The next moment, as another heavy-plated soldier got the opening he needed to swing his warhammer at full power into the side of the dragon’s head with a _ crunch _and a strangled yelp from the dragon. Gyrus glanced up, just for a moment, to see the dragon’s head lull to the side, the beast in a daze with its neck wide open—

Gyrus lunged under the shredded wing he’d been grappling with and used the momentum from his whole body to pierce its scales and plunge his sword deep into the side of the dragon’s neck, just above its shoulders, where the blood in any creature ran the thickest and heaviest. He twisted and pulled out his sword as the dragon jerked clumsily, giving a choked roar in pain and fury. Blood gushed from its neck in a searing stream, covering Gyrus from the chest down in the hot, thick liquid. 

He stumbled back as the dragon staggered around, snapping at him clumsily. Gyrus slipped and fell in the bloody mud, avoiding the knife-sized teeth gnashing above him, but the dragon had regained its bearings from the hammer strike and wasn’t quite losing blood quickly enough; it was looking down at him in contempt to strike again—

Gyrus wasn’t sure how he did it, only knowing that desperation lent the fuel to the instinct for him to internally reach out in some intangible manner to tug at that bright, invisible mass of energy the dragon was carrying, almost completely unclouded by the concealing mesh that was falling away—

The dragon screeched in what sounded like terror and recoiled, then howled in clear enunciation, “**Dovahkiin? Niiiiiiii!**” Gyrus’s ears rang from the deafening sound blasted right next to him, unable to hear or comprehend any other sound or echo in the next handful of moments.

Then, finally, the green dragon collapsed over on its side and was still. Gyrus frantically looked for any sign that it was a feign as he scrambled backwards on his hands and feet. But the beast’s chest was still. The flow of blood from its neck had become sluggish. That bright mass of energy was completely unobscured. Defenseless.

Gyrus just breathed for a few moments, awestruck that powerful creature in front of him was, against all odds, dead. And he’d helped contribute to that.

The moment of stillness was broken by Irileth. “Damned good fighting, boys! Now let’s make sure that overgrown lizard is really dead,” she commanded, seeming unencumbered by her limp arm. Soldiers started to tentatively approach the dead dragon, poking and prodding it. As they began to confirm for themselves that the beast was dead, they began to take up a joyous, triumphant shout.

Gyrus merely slumped back and let his eyes close for a moment as he fervently thanked the Nine Divines for not only surviving but _ winning _ the battle. Fear from Helgen and, to a lesser degree, from this battle would likely still haunt him at times, but somehow, knowing that the beasts could _ die _made the memories of terror easier to shoulder.

But, in spite of the relief and rush of victory, that unshielded mass of energy in his awareness nagged at him.

Gyrus lazily blinked open his eyes. There was nothing visible to suggest the energy was there, and yet… 

_ I must be crazy_, Gyrus thought. But it didn’t stop him from feeling drawn to the energy in some non-physical manner, as if something deep inside him was attracted to it. He found himself reaching out again, like he had during the fight. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Kodya making his way unsteadily towards Gyrus, like the man had been hurt, but Gyrus found himself too enthralled with the energy to care. It was squirming away from him, but it couldn’t go far, and the more Gyrus focused on it, the more he found he _ wanted it_. He wanted to claim that beauty, that power, hold it within himself, because he would never have to fear another dragon again if he had it. All he had to do was reach out and _ take it_. 

So that was what he did. It was so _ easy_. All he had to do was sever the tether connecting the unshielded mass to… something, and then the energy rushed to him, drawn inexorably and inevitably to him. 

Power. Light. Ecstasy. Identity. Knowledge. All jumbled into and through him, settling somewhere deep within him and beginning to slowly, slowly integrate—

It was warm.

The moment ended with all the abruptness of a lightning strike. Gyrus’s eyes hadn’t been closed but suddenly he was aware of what he was seeing and hearing: guards pointing and whispering at him, Tori looking at him like he was some strange creature, Irileth calculating and assessing, Kodya staring at him like he’d grown a second head, and in front of him the body of the dragon – _ Mirmulnir, his name was Mirmulnir_, something in him whispered, and Gyrus didn’t know how he knew that – which had been reduced from flesh to a bare skeleton in the span of mere moments.

Gyrus felt like himself. But somehow, he also felt _ grander _ than before, and a little dazed. He found himself grabbing on to a fistful of his hair like an anchor and looking between his friends and allies as he slowly croaked, “What… what happened?”

* * *

_ One minute earlier… _

Oh, thank the gods, the dragon was finally dead. Kodya fell to his knees and clutched at his chest as he wheezed for breath, struggling to control the agony aggravated by shooting too much, too hard, too quickly. Going to fight the dragon in his condition probably hadn’t been the smartest of ideas, but the offer of a noble title was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for a life of relative peace and security that Kodya would have been a fool to pass up. Dealing with the injury in battle was a small price to pay.

Kodya groped for the bow he’d dropped when he’d fallen. It was a war bow made in the Imperial style, its body scuffed from being flung around and dropped. Maybe it had been stupid of him to grab it in the middle of battle without even knowing if the bowstring was still intact or if its draw strength was suitable for Kodya, but Kodya didn’t regret the decision. He was still alive, and now he had a bow that, while a little heavier and stiffer than what he was used to, was far superior to the junk longbow he’d been forced to use at the beginning of battle. Damn thing couldn’t even generate enough force for the arrows to penetrate the dragon’s tough hide; he’d been forced to aim at the flimsy, constantly moving wings until he’d picked up the Imperial bow.

Hopefully, the Whiterun guard wouldn’t be too keen to have it back.

Kodya stood shakily as his breath steadied. The weakness was frustrating; he could handle pain with a stiff upper lip like any self-respecting Nord man, but the lack of breath sent him reeling every time.

But for now, he had other things to think about. The kid was sitting a little shell-shocked on the ground, almost completely drenched in dragon blood. Kodya started hobbling over to check on him and congratulate him for the killing blow to the dragon’s neck. Some small part of him was also just glad Gyrus had survived; the kid had a knack for living through situations and defeating enemies that could easily bring down greater men than he.

A sudden flickering light had him whipping his head towards the corpse of the dragon. Gold light like burning fire punched through its scales as its flesh started to peel away and dissolve. The dragon’s body looked like it was about to explode.

Kodya started to stumble away from the dragon just as Irileth yelled, “Everybody, get back!” Kodya cursed under his breath as he noticed the kid just sitting there, unmoving.

“Gyrus!” he shouted. He was surprised to hear himself echoed by a feminine voice, from that Imperial soldier Gyrus knew.

But the kid still didn’t move. He looked… almost enthralled, his eyes gleaming from light reflecting from the exploding dragon—

Except the dragon wasn’t exploding; it was just disintegrating in chunks as streams of blue and orange light burst from its body and flowed with a rush of wind towards a single point—

Gyrus. The light circled and was absorbed into him, and he glowed with an aura that flickered and moved like fire. His eyes weren’t gleaming, Kodya realized; they were shining with their own light. Kodya was forcefully reminded of how the kid had acted and appeared in front of the wall in Bleak Falls Barrow, except this was no ancient Nord ruin Gyrus had absorbed something from. 

This was a dragon.

The light faded, and Gyrus blinked rapidly, like he’d come out of a dream. “What… what happened?” Gyrus rasped, clutching his hair and looking stunned. Kodya took a couple steps forward and stopped, unsure of what to do.

A guardsman from Whiterun didn’t share Kodya’s hesitation, advancing only a couple paces away from Gyrus. “I can’t believe it! You’re… Dragonborn…”

Kodya gasped at the declaration, because the implications of anyone being Dragonborn, _ particularly _ Gyrus, were… There was no way Gyrus could be…

The kid looked like he’d been punched in the gut. “I— what?!” Gyrus choked.

Though Kodya was certain Gyrus knew the legends, the guard took it as a cue to explain, “In the very oldest tales, back when there were still dragons in Skyrim, the Dragonborn would slay dragons and steal their power. That’s what you did, isn’t it? Absorbed that dragon’s power?” Well… the guard’s reasoning made _ sense_, but—

“I don’t know what happened to me!” Gyrus exclaimed, looking overwhelmed.

“There’s only one way to find out then,” the guard declared. “Try to Shout… that would prove it. According to the old legends, only the Dragonborn can Shout without training, the way the dragons do.”

Gyrus made a noise that reminded Kodya of breaking glass. That was _ enough_. Kodya limped forward as fast as he could manage without aggravating his chest too much and stood in front of Gyrus. Before he could say anything, though, someone else beat him to the punch, distracting the guards.

“Dragonborn? What are you talking about?” the redheaded woman demanded, subtly shifting to draw attention away from Gyrus.

Kodya knelt and murmured, “You okay, kid?” He ignored the conversation behind him, something about Tiber Septim and killing dragons. Damn it, this was supposed to be a celebration for killing the dragon, not an inquiry.

Gyrus looked up at him, eyes a little too wide and face a little too pale. “Y-yeah,” he stammered. “I don’t— can we just go get our reward now and get out of here?”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” Kodya agreed. No dragons or impossible Dragonborn, just a simple transaction with the Jarl and normal life. He held out a hand to help Gyrus up; the kid grasped it tightly with both hands. He was shaking, Kodya noted. Neither of them were particularly strong or sturdy at the moment, though, and just making it to standing was a slower process than Kodya would have liked. In the background, it sounded like Irileth was saying something about the dead dragon. They started to leave, taking shaky steps back towards the road and then to Whiterun.

But they didn’t make it very far before they were noticed. “Wait, where are you going?” a guard called. 

Kodya couldn’t say he was surprised – neither of them could hope to be very stealthy in their current states – but he certainly wasn’t _ happy _ about being noticed. “Back to Whiterun,” he barked, hoping that the creeping hysteria wasn’t noticeable in his voice.

“But, if he was Dragonborn, wouldn’t you want to know?” another guard asked. 

Kodya half turned and bit back the retort he so desperately wanted to say because _ no_, he did _ not _ want to know if the walking human disaster next to him was supposed to be the greatest of all Nord heroes, because Skyrim was all but doomed if he _ was_. 

Another guard ventured closer and addressed Gyrus, “If you really _ are _Dragonborn, like the old tales, you ought to be able to Shout. Can you? Have you tried?”

“I—” Gyrus’s voice cracked and he fell silent. He looked at Kodya, his face looking bone-white next to the deep red of the blood he was drenched with, then at the soldiers, who were gazing at him expectantly. “I’ll try,” he conceded, his voice weak. He turned to face away from anyone he could hurt, his breathing harsh.

Kodya’s heart plunged to the pit of his stomach, in contrast to the excited murmurs among the soldiers. _ But then_, he reasoned, _ this could be a good thing; if the kid can’t do it, it proves he’s_—

“**_FUS!_**” A wave of force, booming in Gyrus’s voice, exploded forward, tearing up the ground and sending dirt flying.

There was a moment of silence before a guard declared, “That was Shouting, what you just did! Must be. You really are Dragonborn!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second part of the special one-year anniversary double update!
> 
> Worldbuilding concepts such as Shouting and the Dragonborn will be explained later in the fic.
> 
> At the end, the dragon pretty much just screamed, "Dragonborn? Nooooooo!"


End file.
